Skeletons
by Maiden of the Moon
Summary: Everyone has skeletons in their closet... and Edward and Alexander Elric are about to discover their grandfather's. [Elricestx2!]
1. Letter One

_Disclaimer: Ha ha. _

_Author's Note: This one was inspired by THE CUTEST Fullmetal Alchemist OAV I've ever seen. Yes, it's even cuter than the Chibi one, if any of you know what I'm talking about. I don't know where my friend Su-chan found it, 'cept that it's on YouTube, but it's of. . . well, I don't want to spoil it, but essentially it's in celebration of Edward Elric's 100th birthday in 2005. _

_Now, personally, I don't think Ed would live to be 100. Sorry. I don't mean to be a downer, but considering all of the strain he's put his body through—passing though the Gates (a lot), dying once or twice, automail, all of the fighting, and just the **times** he lived though, I can see him living to be 50. At the oldest. Still. . . _

_The film was so damn adorable, I had to write this. Enjoy! XD _

Warnings: Elricest, spoilers if you haven't seen the Birthday!OAV (doesn't spoil anything in the series, though). Oh, and I have some "original characters" in here, based off of Ed's grandkids in the OAV. (Three guesses who they look like—first two don't count.)

**XXX **

X

X

X

I remember very little of my namesake. He died when I was only seven. And at that age, what is there to recall? Grandpa was just another relative. Despite his opinionated ego and friendly smile, he was really rather quiet. . . especially towards the end. And he tired out so easily; he could only play with my brother, sister, and I for half an hour before needing a rest. Nowadays I think it's amazing that he was as animated as he was: 100 years old and still able to curse like a sailor. But when you're five, all you want to do is run around with someone as active as you.

My clearest memories of him are of his bedtime stories— he liked to talk about an imaginary world he called Amestris. Though the tales seemed to make him sad, and he'd gaze into the distance a lot when he told them, Alexander, Rosalie, and I thoroughly enjoyed them. Many a summers day we'd spend outside, pretending to transmute sewer lids. The mere idea of alchemy made us laugh, and Grandpa—by now tired of the rest of the world— only ever laughed with us.

The only other time I ever saw him so happy was when he was looking at his photo album. He liked pictures. He told me once that they helped him remember who he was.

I just grinned like the six-year-old I was.

. . . He told me a lot of things like that, actually—simple statements that were much more than they appeared. I think Alex and Rosalie were jealous of this; they loved Grandpa so much, and he always seemed somewhat depressed when he saw them. Once, when she was four, Rosalie began to cry because she thought Grandpa didn't love her. Grandpa was thoroughly alarmed by this, and quickly took both Rosie and Alex aside to show them some of his pictures. What he showed them, I don't know. But she cheered up.

I kept watching TV, ignoring them like the brat I was. Or am, depending on your opinion.

Mom says that I not only inherited Grandpa's looks, but his attitude. Maybe that's why he always found it easier to punish me— and to wink away the troubles when no one else was watching.

. . . That's the last memory I have of him: winking at me. Before Rosalie, Alexander and I left on his 100th birthday; after he'd gone back to his tea and pictures—he smiled and winked. I beamed, waved, and told him I'd see him later.

It's been ten years since then.

**X **

X

X

**XXX **

Skeletons

XXX

It was a peaceful afternoon in the country: his favorite kind. The birds were singing; the flowers were blooming; Alchemy, his small gray kitten, was purring contentedly in his lap. . . and all was generally right with the world. Alexander Elric happily relished the feeling, smiling up at the bright blue sky as he sipped a cool glass of iced tea.

Ah, life's little pleasures. . .

A footstep alerted him to someone's presence. The boy froze, glancing up—

"Hey, Al!" a cheerful voice cried at that exact moment; a voice as sweet and dark and honey. He'd know that voice anywhere: it belonged to his older brother.

"Ed!" Alex beamed, setting his drink beside him on the glider as his elder sibling approached—the very vision of mischievous beauty in his loose fitting orange muscle shirt and tight fitting jeans— grinning his usual, impishly crooked smile. "What're you doing? I thought you went to help Mom organize boxes and stuff."

At this reminder, Edward cringed; then straightened with a nonchalant sort of shrug. (As if he could hide the wince.) "Yeah, well," the blonde drawled smugly, dropping beside Alexander, "I'm all done, n—!"

"_EDWARD SIMON ELRIC, YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!_" A woman—their mother— suddenly screamed from the garage, so loud and so threatening that even Alchemy leapt in alarm, scuttling for the porch.

". . ." Alex sighed, gazing wistfully at his now-spilt drink. He'd need a new one. . . _'And a fresh pair of pants._' "What'd you do _now, _Brother?"

Edward—who, despite his slouched state, still towered over his little brother (though Alex was only one year younger),— flinched as if hit. "What'd _I _do?" he echoed, clearly stung. "You'd automatically accuse _me_?"

"Over _mom_. . . ?" the second retorted wryly. (He picked in irritation at the drying sugar on his thighs.) "The phrase 'duh' leaps to mind."

Ed was not amused by this clever rebuttal. "Don't you want to hear _my_ side, Al. . . ?" he whimpered, golden eyes wide with hurt. He tilted his head, pouting; bright flaxen ponytail shimmering in the early summer sun. Alex was made abruptly and acutely aware of those long, silky strands clinging to his bare, sweat-glazed neck when Edward scooted half an inch closer. He smelt of fresh-cut grass and a spicy, unnamed cologne. . .

And, to his own horror, Alex blushed, turning quickly away. "No!" he swiftly verbalized, perhaps a little angrier than necessary. He blamed it on his now wet-pants. _'Shit, that sounded SO wrong—!' _"Go on, Edward, mom's calling—and you're only going to be in **more** trouble if you ignore her."

"Oh. . . !" Ed blew out his cheeks (rather loudly), standing in a huff like the drama queen he was. "Fine!" he growled, clearly furious. "But don't expect _me_ to cover for _you_ the next time you—you—" There was a moments mental struggle; a wide, haughty smirk slowly blossomed on his annoyingly smooth features. And when Edward leaned a bit closer for emphasis, Alex felt himself swallow with anticipation. "Next time you download _lemons_ from the internet."

"—!" The brunette's face exploded with magenta; cascading tresses tugged nervously. His silvery-hazel eyes locked with the other's, full of flustered shock. "How did y— I mean—!" _'Oh crud._'

Way to look suspicious.

Sighing, the younger teen hung his head. And, as if on cue, Edward smirked victoriously. He could always have his way with Alexander, if he tried hard enough. Or played dirty enough. Which ever. ". . . Fine. I'll go help mom."

"Thank you!" Ed cheered, leaping to his feet and giving the other a quick hug. Alex's already pink cheeks flamed, body stiffening in the swift embrace. "I owe you, brother-mine!" And with a wave and a wink he was gone in a second.

It was then that Alex realized his brother had done it again.

". . . dammit."

Furious that he'd just been duped, Alex groaned; dragging his feet in the direction of the garage.

**X**

Edward and Alexander Elric were many things—brothers, roommates (as there were only three bedrooms in the house and Rosalie and their parents each needed their own space), relatively average students. . . they were also notoriously stubborn, sharp tongued, and not known for being particularly fair fighters.

Especially when fighting with each other.

But, above everything else, they were deeply committed to living through the law of Equivalent Exchange— just as their father had taught them.

So when Alex (quite literally) kicked Ed off of the top bunk later that night, in order to help him sort through the boxes he'd been conned into cleaning out of the garage, the elder boy had no choice but to resign himself to his fate.

"Dammit, Al," the blonde whined, sitting bare-chested and cross-legged on the floor beside the bottom bunk, grudgingly digging through a little shoebox. "After all the work I put into getting out of this job, you just roped me right back into it?"

"Wrong," Alexander quipped lightly, opening the top of a refrigerator box. "I roped you into a different job. Mom wanted you to help her organize the boxes themselves. Now she wants me to go through said boxes—and I'm making you help me."

Edward sighed, lifting a gaudy earring out of a sea of tissue paper with an arched eyebrow. He quickly tossed it away. "And what's the point of all this?"

"Spring cleaning?" Alex ventured wryly, his response muffled by cardboard as he dug around inside the large box. (At the sound of his voice, Al's brother couldn't help but look up from his own work, amused; watching the younger boy's ass shake from side to side as he burrowed deeper and deeper into the dark depths.) "I dunno. I think she mentioned having a garage sale, or something. . ."

Ed snorted. "Not the _cleaning_," he swiftly corrected, sounding exasperated. "THIS." He dangled another random artifact— a horrendously dirty turquoise garter— in Al's general direction, looking torn between laughter and irritation. Alexander, straightening enough to see the indicated item, flushed before turning away again. "All of this! This junk. What's the point of all of it? Why do we have it?"

"It's not really ours," the brunette muttered, still sounding appalled. (Ed, having decided he'd prefer to be entertained by the garter, used it as a sling shot; smacking Al in the face with it. Alex glowered, chucking a dusty old globe at his brother in retort.) "It's Grandpa's, I think."

Ed's brow furrowed. "Really?" he murmured, somewhat intrigued as he spun the globe between his fingers. "Which one?"

"The dead one—Grandpa Elric."

"Oh." The elder of the pair yawned, lazy; golden eyes half-lidded in dull interest. "That would explain why there's so much of it. Why do we still have it, anyway? Why didn't mom just chuck it when he kicked the bucket?"

"Ed!" Alexander reprimanded, disgusted by his brother's crude tone. Sitting back on his knees, Al dusted down his t-shirt and baggy shorts, glaring. "Show a _little_ compassion, won't you? Of course mom wouldn't just chuck everything—I'm sure dad wanted a chance to go through his stuff. Grandpa Elric _was_ his father, after all."

"Well, he sure took his time about it—if he did it at _all_," Edward drawled. "And if that's the case, why were WE dragged into it?"

"I don't know," Al grumbled, still annoyed. He returned to excavating the contents of the refrigerator box, yellowing newspaper falling around him like confetti. "Maybe mom gave me this box by mistake, or maybe she wants to sell the stuff that's in it, or maybe dad never got around t—

to. . ."

He trailed off suddenly, voice faltering once—then dying.

There was silence.

Ed, still toying with the ancient brown globe, paused, confused by the abrupt nothingness. "Al?" he tried, sitting up. Why did he look so pale? "Alex?" Getting to his knees, the teenager leaned over, prodding his little brother smartly in the side. "Yo, Alexander. What's wrong?"

A swallow; the sound echoed strangely through the small, amber-colored bedroom. Then, snapping his sibling with the oddest of glances, Alex pulled what looked like a faded scrap of paper out of the box. "I. . ." he choked, clearly bewildered. Or, at least, badly shocked. "I— it's _us_."

**X**

And so it was. Or, rather, that was what it appeared to be.

"Wh. . . what the hell. . . ?" Edward gaped, snatching up the photograph with long, trembling fingers. The little wafer of paper shook in his grasp; dulling colors gleaming weakly in the setting sunlight which poured through the window. "It can't be _us_—this photo must be over 90 years old!"

It was a fair assumption. Judging by the faded sepia hues, the grayish tint, the clothing adorning the two stationary boys—which looked like something out of the early 1900s. . . the picture was clearly an antique. Which made the smiling faces looking up at them all the creepier.

Alex, still justifiably surprised, left his large box—scooting over to sit beside his brother. "D. . . do you think. . ." he whispered, touching the edge of the small photo. It was about the size of a baseball card. "Do you think it could be Grandpa?"

The question lingered in the air for a moment, hesitant. Alexander quickly continued.

"I mean, this is a box of his stuff, right? And he always loved pictures. And mom has always said you look like him. . ."

Edward didn't respond for a moment, entranced as he was by the image. It was spellbinding; so curious. . . Hesitantly, he brushed his thumb over his double's face, as if trying to touch that large grin.

The young man in the print continued to beam; chin tilted upwards, staring cheerfully at the taller boy, who's hand was on his shoulder.

". . . I guess that makes sense," Ed finally admitted, clearing his throat. Dropping the photograph as if he had burnt him, he turned away, playing with long strands of his bound hair. "But if that's true, who's that with him?" He gestured vaguely at the second male, who looked frighteningly like Alex.

The brunette in question could only shrug—trying to avoid looking at his doppelganger. His beam was so sunny, so adoring; it hurt to stare. What was it for? How did these two men know each other?

"Do you think there's anything else in the box?" Al inquired softly, turning the picture upside down; pressing the faces into the carpet. It was too much. . . "Something about. . . . ?"

Edward snorted, getting swiftly to his feet. "Who cares?" he grumbled, perhaps a little louder than necessary. "It's of no concern. So Grandpa knew some guy who looked a bit like you. Big deal. It doesn't affect us one way or another." He paused, looking unsure of what else to do or say before ultimately deciding to stalk to the door. "I'm hungry," he then announced. "Do we have any more cold pizza?"

"Do I look like the fridge?" Alexander muttered indignantly, waving his brother off. He began to busy himself with the scattered packing paper, crumpling the sheets into a single large ball. "Go look for yourself."

"I will."

And he did. Leaving Alex alone.

". . ."

The quiet was painful.

Sighing, the younger boy continued to tidy the bedroom, tossing a few stray socks into the corner in his search for more trash. All the while, the photo lay beside his bottom bunk—unable to be forgotten, not liking being ignored. Try as he might, Alexander couldn't keep his eyes from straying to the pale underside of the image, mind drifting as he vainly attempted to decipher the hidden message. It was as if the two young men were trying to tell him something. . . something important.

Who was he? The boy who looked like him? The boy who touched their Grandpa with such ease and devotion? The boy who Grandpa was looking at with such care and concern?

Who?

Before he'd even realized he was doing it, Alex felt his feet carry him back to the refrigerator box. Shooting out as if on their own accord, his arms were soon buried up to the shoulders in old newspapers: digging, searching, grasping for something just beyond what he could see.

He found it; right hand clenching something hard and thick; heavy. Cold. Rough. He retrieved it without a second thought.

"A book?"

Alexander blinked, taken aback as he fell onto his rump, crossing his legs with the find in his lap. It _was_ a book—obvious, by its shape and size; chocolate leather covers enclosing a ream of yellowing parchment— but not the kind he had been used to seeing his Grandpa with. Edward senior was known for his scientific tastes; he'd never been one to lounge around with modern-day novels. Nor anything else, really, that involved something of an imagination. Which made it odd that this book had been in his possession: a book which, instead of hosting a bunch of complicated Latin words on the front cover, proudly displayed a clasp and an ornate, dragon-like design.

Al could hardly believe it, unable to keep his eyebrows away from his hairline as he fingered the heavy volume. "Is this. . ." he murmured to himself, unable to keep the astonishment out of his voice. "Is this a _diary_. . . ?"

It certainly looked the part—more than it looked like a book on chemistry, in any case. But there was really only one way to find out. . .

And so, taking a deep breath, Alex broke the seal; allowing the pages to fall open with an explosion of dust.

**X**

_May, 1923 _

Dear Al,

First, let me say that I can't believe I'm doing this. And I know that, if you were here, you'd be looking at me as if I'd lost my mind. But give me a chance to defend myself—this wasn't my idea. It was Hendrich's. He was the one that suggested I take up writing a diary (his words, not mine) in order to—and I quote—"record your thoughts of this new world, so that you can tell your brother everything when you find him." My response was somewhat vulgar, I admit, but summarized was: "I don't do diaries." He, therefore, amended his request by changing the word "diary" to "research log."

I told him to bugger off.

However, I guess he still won, in the end, because here I am, writing. Though this isn't a diary—nor is it really a research log. Because even though that's what he suggested, it's not what he meant. Or what I meant.

I think he's just sick of seeing me mope. And I suppose I can't blame him. It's been two months since my unceremonious appearance in this screwed up world, and things have only gone downhill from there. I have a job, I have a roommate, but I have no will to live. (This is where you'd call me overdramatic, right, Al?)

I miss you, little brother. I can't stop thinking about our home, about our friends, about alchemy. I can't stop worrying about you. Are you okay? Is your new body working? Did the Colonel's plan succeed? I need to know— but there's no way to find out.

Hendrich is a big help. He listens to me, and doesn't call me crazy. He brings me back home when I get too drunk at the bar. (Which I go to too often, I know.) He's the one who gave me this journal. He worries about me, burden that I am. And I don't know how I'll be able to repay all of his kindness.

_I know that Equivalent Exchange will come back to bite me in the ass. It's all just a matter of when. _

But for now, there's nothing I can do but sit here. It's cold in Munich (that's where I am right now, in a country called 'Germany') at this time of year, so the windows are all shut and locked. We don't have a fireplace or many candles, so it's dark—and cold. Hendrich is nearby, making dinner, and I'm writing at the kitchen table. He tried to subtly read over my shoulder when I first started writing (he wants to know more about you, Al, but I'm not telling), which is why this is all in English. He can't read English, nor does he like it. He says it's too complicated. I like it, though; it's close to what we speak back home. German is harder for me. But I'm getting used to it.

I hope you're okay, Al. I miss you—I miss you a lot. But I have to say, I feel a little bit better after having written this. Maybe Hendrich was right.

I'll write again later.

—Ed

**X**

Alexander stared unblinkingly down at the neat cursive scrawl, wondering hazily if his heart was ever going to start beating again. When he'd first read 'Dear Al,' it felt for a moment as if this letter was supposed to span across time; find its way to him. But no. . . '_Grandpa had a little brother?'_

And what was all of this about other worlds? A new body? A Colonel? Alchemy? It almost sounded like Grandpa's bedtime stories. . .

Which couldn't possibly be true, of course.

. . . right?

"Hey, Al—" (Alex nearly jumped a mile, clutching his chest as his older brother made his sudden presence known) "I brought us some piz—"

But the blonde fell silent at the look on his sibling's round face. Cocking his own head in perplexity, the elder boy set the plates down on a messy nightstand, flopping beside the other on floor. "What's wro— hey, where'd you find that?" He pointed at the book with inquisitiveness in his voice; golden eyes wide and innocently puzzled. "In the box?"

"It's an old journal of letters," Alexander replied carefully, setting the book on the ground between them—on top of the photograph. "Letters Grandpa wrote to his little brother."

Edward looked surprised. "Little brother?" he repeated, astonished. "I didn't know Grandpa had one of them."

"Well. . ." Alex cleared his throat gingerly, tracing an undefined pattern on his kneecap with a forefinger. "Maybe he didn't."

"Huh?" A pause; a frown. "What do you mean?"

Al shrugged, looking somewhat troubled. "In the first letter he keeps talking about things like other worlds and alchemy. . . like the bedtime stories he used to tell us. Maybe he was. . . um. . . you know. . ."

"Crazy?" Ed filled in dryly. His brother nodded, apparently feeling flustered—and a little guilty. "Eh. Could be, I guess. But. . ." the blonde trailed off for a moment, glancing out the window. Twilight had come and gone; the moon was blazing brightly, now. "But didn't Grandpa tell you about his brother before? And show you pictures?"

". . . _What?_"

Edward brushed off the younger male's clear indignation. "Well, remember that one time, when you were—I dunno, five? He showed you and Rosie some pictures when we went to visit. I didn't get to see 'em, but I remember you being pretty fascinated with 'em. Were they of that boy?" He jabbed a finger at the picture which lay beneath the diary. "Maybe _he's_ Grandpa's brother. That would explain why he showed you—you and Rosalie were whining that he didn't love you 'cause he always looked so sad when he saw you. He must have seen the resemblance between you. Maybe you reminded him of his brother."

". . ."

Alexander was stunned silent—simply staring at his brother. Ed, who realized with a twinge of embarrassment that he'd just stuck up for his Grandpa (and had quite flippantly explained away something most would consider solid proof of insanity), blushed a light shade of magenta. "Just a thought," he mumbled, toeing the carpet.

Al coughed. "Um. . . well, I don't really. . . that is. . . c'mon, I was four! I don't remember!" His brow wrinkled in thought; he knuckled it with a fist, looking torn. "But I guess. . . not that it matters. . ."

"Why are you making such a big deal out of this, anyway?" Edward asked coolly, trying to salvage some 'manly pride.' "It's just an old picture and an even older diary. Why don't we just chuck it?"

But this evoked a very firm response.

"No," Alex replied without a moment's hesitation. "No, I want to read it."

Ed—who, despite it all, wasn't very surprised (his brother was something of a history buff)— arched an eyebrow just the same. "Why?"

It was a simple enough question. But still, Al didn't respond for a while. . . instead staring at the loopy cursive on the page before him. "I just. . ." Gnawing on his bottom lip, Alexander cast his older brother a desperate glance. "I just feel like there's something we should know about him. Like there's one final bedtime story he didn't tell us, but wanted to."

". . . have you been swallowing toothpaste again?"

"Brother!"

"Hey!" Edward cried, defending himself with upturned palms and a breezy smile; dodging the pillow. "I'm just kidding! Do what you like; I don't care. Besides, if Grandpa really was wacko, maybe it will make a good novel idea or something."

Typical Ed. Never serious. Regardless, as Alex turned the page to read the next entry, his brother didn't go anywhere. Instead, he lingered—apparently wanting to read on, too.

Unfortunately, it looked like this entry was going to take a bit more work to read: the parchment was flooded with ink spills and smeared with the remains of some sort of liquid. Even the cursive itself was oddly misshapen, running together as if there were some sort of invisible traffic jam on the page. . .

**X**

_May1923_

_Al—I can't take it. I can'tIcan'tIcan'tI wantto see you nowand I don't want to wait. Whereare you? Where can you be?Are you waitingfor me beyondtheGatestill? I want tobe with you now.Iwant to see younow. Iwant younow. _

I missyou, brother.Imissyour warmthand smileandeverything about you.I want youwith mesothat I can touch—

**X**

Alexander slammed the book shut with a loud _SMACK_. His eyes were wide; cheeks as red as cherries. Edward, on the other hand, was looking strangely entertained.

"I. . . um. . . think he was drunk," Alex squeaked, plainly horrified.

"Drunk?" Ed echoed, laughing; his smile morphing into an amused smirk. "Al— I think he was _gay_."

**XXX**

_Oh, how right you are, Edward Jr. XD _

Anyway, hopefully I'll update this soon—as I've got some lovely (and some not so lovely) plans for both sets of Elric brothers. ;)

I hope you enjoyed!

PS. I wasn't sure what year Edward showed up on our side of the Gate; I was pretty sure it was the early 1920s, though. . . and then he spends three years without Al? Right? I think. . . ?

Help. . . ? (insert sweatdrop here)


	2. Letter Two

_Disclaimer: Don't do drugs. They'll make you think crazy things. Like that you own things you don't. (Drugs suck; I hate them and those who choose to use them.) _

Author's Note: All right. I had a lot of questions in my reviews for last chapter that desperately need to be addressed. So here we go! XD

**_PLEASE NOTE THAT, AS I'VE NOW ANSWERED THESE QUESTIONS, I WILL IGNORE YOUR REVIEW IF YOU ASK ANYTHING SIMILAR IN THE FUTURE. OKAY? SO BE SURE TO READ THESE FAQs IF YOU'RE CURIOUS ABOUT ANYTHING._**

QUESTION ONE: "How old are Edward and Alex (now)?"

ANSWER: I know I didn't state it directly, but their ages were in chapter one. Our Ed died ten years previous, when Ed Jr. was seven. That would make him seventeen. Alexander is a year younger, making him sixteen. (See below for other Ed -n- Alex info.)

QUESTION TWO: "Huh? But if Al is in the picture, why is Ed writing letters to him like he's gone…? Wasn't he with Ed at the end of the movie?"

ANSWER: The journal entries start before Al shows up in our world. I think Ed and Al spend about three years apart; it had only been two months after letter one. :)

QUESTION THREE: "Did you know the dates are off? It was 1921/1917/19etc."

ANSWER: . . . Umm. . . (cough)

In any case, I did some calculations. If Ed was 100 in 2005, he was born in 1905. That means, if he was 18 at the beginning of the movie, it'd start in 1923. So yeah, I was wrong. He's still… what, 16 at the end of the series? (Yeah, then they were apart about 3 years.) Therefore, the journal should start in 1921. So those of you who said 1921—you win!

I'll change that for this chapter, and go back and fix chapter one when I can. :)

QUESTION FOUR: "Why'd you spell Heiderich's name: 'Hendrich?'

ANSWER: 'Cause I made a mistake…? Eh heh. Sorry. (feels stupid)

QUESTION FIVE: (Well, okay, it wasn't really a question—but it popped up a LOT and REALLY frustrated me) "Al is not Alexander; he's Alphonse."

ANSWER: . . . **_what_**? Did you guys even BOTHER reading the chapter before reviewing? Not to be rude or anything, sorry, but that was my initial reaction. Or maybe some of you were just confused.

Okay.

Edward Elric senior—the Fullmetal Alchemist—has a little brother named Alphonse; yes. He calls him Al; yes. THIS Al is the one Ed is writing to. Okay? Okay.

Edward Elric junior—the seventeen year old of our world—has a little brother named ALEXANDER_. NOT ALPHONSE_. Why do you guys think **his** name is Alphonse, _too_? Because Ed Jr. calls him Al? Want to know the reasoning behind that?

EDWARD ELRIC JUNIOR IS LAZY.

Yup. Calling Alexander 'Alex' is too much work. So he shortened it to Al. ("Alex" – "ex" "Al.") It was something I decided on when coming up with their characters. In fact, here are little summaries of our new characters, since some of you were wondering about them, anyway:

_Edward Simon Elric_—

Nickname: Ed (and Alex sometimes calls him 'Brother.')  
Age: Seventeen.  
Appearance: Tall (his grandpa would be jealous); golden eyes; long blonde hair he wears in a ponytail (or, sometimes, down).  
Favorite Color: Blue.  
Favorite Food: Pizza with sour cream (it's good!).

Favorite Book: Howl's Moving Castle (Diane Wayne Jones)  
Sexuality: Gay all the way. XD (Don't tell me you couldn't see that coming.)  
Random Quirk: Ed can't stand the smell of French toast.  
Other Info: A B-average student with no real interest except the arts, Edward loves acting, painting, and (when no one is listening) singing in the shower. He also enjoys playing sports like basketball and football—though just for fun. (Especially against Al; it's another excuse to pick a friendly fight with him.) He's a very protective older brother, and has been known to beat up guys who stare at his sister (or brother (cough)) for too long. (Much to Rosalie's horror, of course.) Doesn't think too much of good 'ol dad, though—he's sorta a homophobe (dunno how that happened). Overall, however, Ed's an easy-going, fun-loving kind of guy who enjoys lazy afternoons and naps.

_Alexander James Elric_—

Nickname: Alex (and Ed calls him 'Al.')  
Age: Sixteen.

Appearance: Average height; silvery-hazel eyes; long auburn hair that he wears in a ponytail.  
Favorite Color: Green.  
Favorite Food: Beef ramen.  
Favorite Book: The DaVinci Code (Dan Brown)  
Sexuality: Currently wading in that river in Egypt—Denial. ;)  
Random Quirk: Al sleeps with a stuffed kangaroo named Bunny. (Received and named when he was four.)  
Other Info: Alexander is smart. Boasting a low-A average in most of his classes, he only ever fails because of his hatred for school. (He finds it boring.) His interests lie in history, math, and chemistry, but he's not sure what sort of career he wants to pursue. He kicked around the idea of being a vet for a while (he loves cats), but also thinks being a teacher might be nice. (He could mix things up a bit.) In his free time, Alex loves to read and play with his kitten, Alchemy. He also enjoys air hockey and other non-physical sports, because he can beat his older brother in them. (He's also a master poker player.) He and Rosalie, being the more sensible children in the family, are united in keeping their irrational oldest sibling out of trouble—other then that, though, they don't talk much. But he's always there for her if she needs him. Alexander is also the most mature of the three Elric kids, so if mom or dad needs something done (though they give the responsibility to Edward), Alex, being somewhat of a perfectionist, knows it's up to him to make sure it's done well.

_Rosalie Catharine Elric— _

Nickname: Rosie (or 'Squirt/Geek,' whenever Ed is feeling playful.)

Age: Fourteen.  
Appearance: Average height; pale blue eyes; long, pale blonde hair that she wears in a ponytail, pigtails, or French braid.  
Favorite Color(s): Lavender and gray.  
Favorite Food: Gummy worms.  
Favorite Book: The Mediator series (Meg Cabot)  
Sexuality: Bi.  
Random Quirk: Rosie finds glasses irresistibly sexy.  
Other Info: Rosalie Elric, the delicate flower of the Elric household, is loud, opinionated, and bossy. With grades somewhere between her brothers and a social life that is unusually busy, Rosie is almost never around. However, whenever she has a little down time, she enjoys reading magazines, trying on makeup, watching anime, and building computers from scratch. She is an electronics geek—and proud of her ability to hack into any system. She is also the president of the manga/anime club at her middle school and is a fervent shonen-ai supporter. She kicks ass in DDR. As for her relationship with her brothers—she loves them, but she hates that they treat her like a child. Therefore, she goes out of her way to abuse them, like any good sister should. ;)

_Whew! Okay, I think that's all. XD Now then, after all, that, who's ready for a new chapter? ;) (Though this A/N was almost like a chapter in and of itself…)_

**XXX **

X

X

X

Occasionally, I'm asked when I knew. When I first realized that I was "different." Usually I'm asked this by girls. Usually sobbing girls. Usually at the most inopportune time—like in the crowded hallway between classes, right before the warning bell. And let me tell you, it sucks having to try and explain yourself (as gently as possible) to a crying classmate over all that screaming, yelling, name-calling, and general insanity.

But they insist that they want to know. Now. So that they have something to gossip with their friends about, I guess. Or to make sure I'm not just shooting them down 'cause I'm a jerk.

So in the middle of all that screaming, yelling, name-calling, and general insanity, I am forced (quite frequently), to bare my soul and jump (for the umpteenth time) out of that metaphorical closet.

I kinda hate it. And c'mon— you'd think the whole school would know by now. (Really, I'm starting to get the feeling that they just like hearing me say it.)

Yes, world. I'm gay.

And I've known it for years.

It wasn't so bad when I was little; when all the boys hated girls. You could just mark off your distaste for touching as a fear of cooties. But even as I grew older, and all the other guys started whispering about "so-and-so's badass rack," I felt no physical attraction for the opposite sex. Sure, there are some pretty ones out there—and some really awesome ones who I consider great friends—but when it comes to lust and love?

Nope. Sorry, honey, but I'm not interested.

And I've always been comfortably aware of this fact. Comfortably aware and unashamed, I'm proud to say. I've never been afraid to share my sexual preference with others, either— everyone knows homophobes are really the 'gayest' of us all.

In any case, people sorta teased me at first, I suppose, but then they discovered that even a gay kid's fist in your face hurts like hell. So they shut up. Since then, I've never had any problems making or keeping friends.

In fact, there's really only one problem (apart from all the crying girls in noisy hallways) with this entire situation. My being gay, that is. One lanky, auburn, funny, adorable, nerdy, beautiful problem.

Alexander Elric.

My little brother.

**X **

X

X

**XXX **

Skeletons

XXX

Alex looked as if he'd just been slapped. Or, perhaps, as if he'd almost been run over by a train—his hands trembled, his face paled, his mouth hung open in a perfect little 'o'.

Edward, on the other hand; lounging like a contented cat beside him; continued chuckling, languidly resting his chin in his palm. "That certainly _is_ interesting," Ed purred into the silence, tawny eyes flashing in cool amusement. "I wonder if he ever got any from his dearly beloved. . . ?"

"Brother!" Alexander barked, snapping back to life with a tiny retching noise, cheeks flaming. "That's entirely inappropriate! Besides, there's _no way_ Grandpa could have been gay!"

The elder arched a nonchalant eyebrow, twirling a loose strand of hair around one long finger. He seemed torn between curiosity and boredom. "Oh? Why not?"

"Because people _weren't_ gay back then," Alex muttered, curling tightly in upon himself, staring down at the closed journal. It was almost as if he were pouting. . .

Edward just laughed again. "Don't be stupid," he softly chided, though his voice held no bite. He was still grinning, after all—as if this whole situation was one big joke. "There have been homosexuals since the beginning of time. And that never used to be a bad thing; not until the modern era, anyway. Just look at the Romans. . . I hear they even encouraged it." Ed's smile lengthened sweetly, unperturbed by his brother's wide-eyed stare. "Men fight harder in battle if they're standing next to their lover," he calmly explained. "Generals liked to play off of that fact."

". . . oh."

The brunette's pink cheeks darkened considerably, looking pointedly away. "Well. . . true as that may be. . . he. . . he just couldn't have!" Al insisted once more, more vehemently this time. "I mean, c'mon. That letter—the one where he's drunk—"

"—But at least out of the closet—"

"— in it, he's talking about his _little brother_!" Alex finished, ignoring Ed's teasing interjection. The former continued to look stubbornly deterred, poking the book as if it were a large, rectangular button. "His _brother!_"

Again—much to Alexander's shock— his sibling simply shrugged. Or tried to, but it was a difficult move to perform while resting on one's side. "So?" the blonde then verbalized around a yawn. "There's a name for that. It's called incest."

"I'm not stupid; I know the term!"

"Well, if there's a term, it means it's not unheard of. Odd, perhaps, in this day and age . . . but lots of ancient cultures considered incest a way of life. The Egyptian princes and princess, for example, were only ever permitted to marry each other, as deity are only allowed to procreate with other deity." Ed rolled over a bit, so that he lay sprawled on his back rather than his side.

…It was as if they were discussing the weather.

Alex continued to stare at his older sibling like he'd lost his mind. But… '_He has a point._' "Yeah, maybe," Al grudgingly agreed, though not without a thick undertone of exasperation, "but it's _illegal _nowadays— for good reason. Ever heard of the genetic problems it causes? Do we want our society swarming with deformed babies?"

Edward snorted, his eyebrow giving an irritated tick. "LOOK, Al," he then drawled, pushing himself to a crouch. "I'm not encouraging OR condoning the action. I'm simply stating it the way it is. After all, it's not like _you_ can change what Grandpa felt. But seriously, Alex? Your retort is lacking in the sensibility department. Not _everyone_ is going around harboring the desire to make out with their brothers and/or sisters. So don't worry, the world's stupid gene pool is safe."

"…" Alexander flushed, feeling a little dumb; avoiding his brother's cold gaze. '_What's HIS problem, all of the sudden?_' Why was he being so uptight about this?

But before he could ask, Ed stood— stalking pointedly towards the door; pausing only to cast one last withering look over his shoulder. "And Al?

I don't think two_ guys_ would have to worry about making deformed babies."

And he was gone. Presumably to attack his basement art studio, like he usually did when annoyed. Though what had irked him this time was a mystery to Alex. After all, it wasn't like they didn't have disagreements _every day_… '_Maybe I was fighting this too hard,'_ Alexander reasoned, still curled in a tight ball. He poked the journal once more, for good measure. '_I mean, I guess I was kind of close-minded. . . and it's true: it's not like I can change what Grandpa felt, either way. Maybe I should apologize. . ._'

But in the end, he decided against it. For now, anyhow. His mind was too full of other thoughts—like Grandpa and the journal and Ed's words.

'_He can even make incest sound okay. . ._'

And no, his heart did NOT just 'flutter.'

Of course. . . this whole internal debate could prove to be a giant waste of time. What if Grandpa Elric really _was_ drunk—and only drunk? Maybe he didn't realize what he was writing. . . ?

. . . maybe Alex was just making excuses to read on?

That, in all likelihood, was probably the case.

But that didn't stop him from toeing open the leather-bound volume, prepared (perhaps even anxious) to read on.

**X**

_May, 1921_

_Dear Al, _

_My head hurts. Heiderich says I deserve it, and that if I don't stop being so reckless the university won't fund my projects anymore. Which is probably true. In any case, I didn't bother thinking up any sarcastic retort to throw back at him—on account of the fact that it hurts even more when I try to think. But writing isn't that bad, so here I am, writing. _

I know, I know. I can hear you in my head, Al—'Heiderich is right, you shouldn't be drinking.' It's true, I shouldn't. And maybe I don't really want to. Maybe me doing this is just some sick form of rebellion. After all, since you're not here to stop me, what should it matter if I do?

_Or maybe I'm still drunk._

…_I hope that we find each other soon. _

Heiderich _told me that he may have thought of a way. It has to do with what he's researching—rockets. He thinks that, maybe, our world is just beyond the sky. With a rocket, I might make it there. Then I can see you again. _

_When he said this, I felt a lot of different stuff at once. Mostly happy… but curious, too. And then I heard myself ask the question that I'd been keeping inside for a long time: "Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?" _

_Because, of course, Al, you can understand why **I** stay with **him**—he reminds me of you. Your smile, your smell, your kindness. He's nothing more than an imitation (though a person of his own right), but it's enough to keep me sane. _

Why does he tolerate me?

He grinned when I asked this, as if he'd been expecting it, and set down his coffee and paper in the way only he does—folding the news into a neat square to serve as a coaster.

_Then, very calmly, he nearly killed me with shock: "Because you remind me of someone I once loved." _

_I pressed him for information. My stomach hurt. _

_His name was Edward Cullison. He lived in a place called London with his father, Hohenheim. He and Heiderich_ _had been childhood friends; had played together when Hohenheim traveled to Germany to do business with other politicians. But Heiderich_ _hadn't heard from him for nearly a year. . . he'd read that Cullison had died in an air raid._

…_I should have told him that it was my fault. That if I hadn't been inside Cullison's body at the time of the attack, he might still be alive. But the words got stuck in my throat—and all I could say was that I was sorry._

_He only smiled. I think he knew. That I was to blame, I mean. But still, he only smiled. _

Maybe I remind him of Cullison, just as he reminds me of you, Al. But is that a good thing or bad thing? One can only live so long chasing dreams of the past, after all…

_I wonder, will my life expire before I catch my own? _

… I need to go puke.

—_Ed_

**X**

The basement was Edward's.

This wasn't a written rule, of course. The basement used to belong to all three of the Elric children: serving as an unfinished play room when they were little. But as Ed got older, his projects bigger, and his messes messier, Alex and Rosie had surrendered the remainder of the space to their ambitious big brother as a 9th birthday present. And he had taken over.

It hadn't changed much since that fateful day. The wooden walls remained a cheerful shade of chestnut brown— with slate-gray cement serving as the floor. It was deemed 'unfinished' by parents and realtors alike, and somewhat cold (temperature-wise); with one little window to the backyard serving as a fire escape if worse came to worse.

But the décor was unquestionably the product of Ed's countless endeavors.

Five art easels, a cracked pottery wheel, and countless crooked bookshelves littered the room—tables covered in half-finished canvases, torn sketchbook pages, charcoal, chalk, pencils of every color, oil pastels, acrylic paints, wooden shavings, small adjustable models, soapstone, pallets, mixed and dried paints, dirty cups, brushes of twenty different sizes, inks, glosses, scissors, plaster and knifes. Paint splatters encrusted sections of the wall and floor, clay stains permanently ground into the framework. All of this glowed happily in the warm, bright light of three, yellow, pull-string light bulbs.

The basement was Edward's home-inside-his-home. He loved it there; his own tiny world of color and texture. It was always quiet… it helped him think.

He did a lot of thinking there.

"Ed…?"

"!" The eldest boy jumped a bit in surprise, turning with a flutter of his heavily-stained lab coat. (It served as a convenient, if not multi-colored, apron.) "Why, if it isn't little Rosie," he then vocalized, smiling pleasantly as he pulled out a handkerchief, wiping down his thin-bristled paintbrush. The pale cloth was soon stained a dark jade-green. "Looking unusually beautiful, I might add."

The youngest Elric sibling grinned from her seat on the basement steps, her perfectly lined eyes crinkling with delight at the praise. "I'm going out," she announced gleefully, smoothing down her long white socks and showing off her freshly-painted black nails. "On a date."

Ed arched an eyebrow, moving away from his easel. Putting down his current brush, he made a show of choosing a new one from the box on the card table. "Oh? With who?" he asked lightly, as if he didn't really care. But this only made Rosalie's smile widen into a smirk.

"Amy," she sang, flipping her long, silky locks over her shoulder. Tonight she was wearing it in a high pony tail, held up with a lavender satin ribbon. "You know her. The bookworm with wavy brown hair? Uber cute? Her older sisters go to your school."

"I know her." Edward smiled faintly, selecting a thicker brush as he straddled a fold-out chair, staring directly at his little sister. "And I'm happy for you… though I'm beginning to think that mom and dad are going to be highly disappointed on the grandkid front."

Rosalie laughed, waving a heavily bangled hand. "Don't worry, I haven't sworn off guys, or anything," she assured, sky-blue eyes twinkling with mischief and good humor. "In fact, _Todd_ will be with us."

The elder teen instantly scowled. "Todd. . . ? What, as in Todd Multare? That pyro, flirty kid? NO. I don't like him—and he's WAY too old for you."

"He's 18!"

"And you're not," Ed pointed out. His eyes had hardened considerably; stabbing the air with the tip of his brush. "Hell, neither am I. _And I don't like him_."

"Good thing you're not dating him, then," Rosalie retorted coolly, pushing herself to her feet. Unconcernedly brushing off the rear of her jean skirt, she began to stroll forward—towards the unfinished painting Ed had left on his easel. "Speaking of _your_ love life, though. . ." She paused, leaning forward, squinting a bit. (From his chair nearby, Ed caught a whiff of her Sweet Pea perfume.) "Oh my. New flame?" The girl asked innocently, whirling around and jabbing a thumb at the picture. It was no where near completed: just a few light lines traced with thin highlights of shadowed emerald, vibrant turquoise, and peachy-vanilla. But Rosalie had seen enough of her brother's paintings to know that this was the beginning of a very important portrait… at least, important to Ed.

He only ever used acrylic for the important ones.

"I guess…" Edward replied—albeit a bit hesitantly—resting his chin against the back of his chair; thick black lashes lowering to hide sections of his glowing amber eyes. "…you could say that."

"It's good so far."

He chuckled, though somewhat exasperated. "How can you say that? There's barely anything there!"

"Maybe," Rosie beamed, lacing her fingers together behind her back, "but I can tell it's good. And I'm sure _Alex_ will like it, too, once you've finished it." She paused momentarily, watching for her brother's reaction. He didn't say anything, but she was sure she saw his back stiffen a little. That was all she needed to know. "By the way— did you ever show him those other sketches you'd done? Of him, I mean. Of him sleeping and reading in the garden? Because really, Ed, they were beautiful."

The blonde boy's face had slowly disappeared into the depths of his crossed arms; the tips of his ears flamed a horrible shade of scarlet. Rosalie smiled. ". . . in that case, you really should."

"No, I shouldn't." His voice was muffled, but clear.

"_Yes_, you should," she repeated firmly, frowning slightly. "Really, Ed. Are you a man, or aren't you?"

"Sexist much?"

"I'm allowed to be," Rosie sniffed huffily. "I'm a girl." Then, with a giggle to show that she was only kidding, she glided over to kiss the top of her moody brother's head. "That said, I've gotta get going. Amy's parents are strict about curfews, so if I wanna get into her pants before nine I need to have left five minutes ago."

Ed lifted his head half an inch, casting his sister a dry look. "Too much information, Squirt. Too much information. . ." But he ruffled her hair all the same, waving goodbye as she raced up the stairs.

"Oh— AND NO TALKING TO TODD!"

But her only response was the slamming of the front door.

**X**

_June, 1921_

_Dear Al, _

_The days are long here—all meshed together to form one never-ending being. Light fades into darkness, darkness merges with light. . . time keeps moving on. _

But I feel like I'm being left behind. I don't care about this world; I don't care about their inventions; I don't care about the people. I just want to go home.

I want to leave all of this nothingness behind.

_Heiderich_ _and I don't talk much about anything other than science. I know he wants to ask about you, but he doesn't. I'm not sure why—perhaps a feeling of decency? _

Or maybe he thinks I won't answer. Which is true, I won't. I just…

I don't want him to think that I'm using him, even if I probably am. His kindness, his sympathy—I don't deserve it. I know that. But I keep on taking it, anyway.

_I'm pathetic, Al. I was willing to die for you, but I'm not strong enough to live without you._

_I hope that you're okay. _

—Ed

**X**

Summer air was always sweeter at nighttime in the country, perfumed as it was with spring crests and lilac blossoms. The tall, waving golden grasses that grew in the near distance rustled; the trees which stretched on 'til forever looked like distant mountains from where their house stood on the hills. Dark clouds rolled peacefully, like ocean waves, as timid stars grew bold.

Alex observed all of this silently, holding the journal in his lap. It was a comfortable weight, pleasantly heavy against his legs. Fingering it quietly, he closed his eyes, rocking slowly back and forth on the porch bench. As the basement belonged to Ed, the porch belonged to Alexander; it was his place to think, to muse, to sort out feelings.

He also felt that it was the most beautiful place in the world.

"_So what should we do; how to act? Forget everything; bring in back?_" he hummed softly; the words to an old lullaby. His voice quietly echoed over the landscape, in time to the creaking of his swing. "_One never should try to rebirth… what was taken away by the Earth…_"

His mother's words; but in reference to what? He'd never understood the song… but it had a calming effect on him, even now, after all these years. Though occasionally, when he was at his most confused, he would wonder what it meant. Did it have a secret story, like Grandpa's journal?

And speaking of Grandpa's journal…

"'Some choices we live not once, but a thousand times over—remembering them for the rest of our lives.'"

"?" Alex straightened, not shocked but still mildly surprised to see Edward in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame; watching him with his relaxed golden gaze. The screen door creaked as the older boy pushed through it, into the night. "What are you talking about?"

Edward shrugged, moving to sit on the cold porch step. Stretching out his long, slender legs, he tilted his head toward the white, waning moon. "It's a Richard Bard quote. Grandpa told me it, once." He cast his baby brother a look from over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow. "I figure it might mean more to you than me, seeing as how you're the one digging through his deep-dark past."

Alexander flushed a bit, as he always seemed to, nowadays. "I wouldn't call it deep and dark," he mumbled, pushing himself gently. His fingers tightened around the spine. "So far, it's just sorta… sad."

Ed smirked. "What, no more pre-electricity porn?"

"Brother…"

"I'm just kidding!" He chortled for a moment, amused by Al's expression, but quickly calmed; sobriety in his tone when he next spoke. "Seriously, though. What do you mean? Why is it sad?"

"…" Alex sighed a bit, staring out over the treetops. "He just… seems really lonely, right now. He keeps talking about how nothing else matters when his brother isn't with him. I'd be afraid of him committing suicide if I didn't know for a fact that he lived to be 100."

Ed considered this, brow furrowing in thought. "Well… he can't stay that sad for long, I'd think. I mean, we have that picture of them together, right? Eventually, this Al-person is gonna have to show up for their Kodak moment."

Alexander hadn't thought of that.

Edward grinned upon noticing Al's wide-eyed expression. "I'm sure things will turn out okay for them," he assured, getting to his feet with a scuffle of socks. "So stop dawdling with your reading—I want you to get to the juicy details and give me the play-by-play."

"**_Brother_**!"

The door shut with a bang; Ed raced off laughing.

**X  
**

_July, 1921_

_Dear Al, _

_The days and nights are getting warmer. They remind me of summers back home, only less green. There isn't a lot of wildlife here in the city—it's actually rather depressing. But sometimes, when work is slow, Heiderich_ _and I will take a drive through the countryside. I like those days; he'll listen in the backseat as I tell stories about our adventures and admire the scenery. Then we'll have a picnic. On days like those, it's hard to imagine the world as the screwed-up place I know it is. _

But it's nice to have some happy memories.

_Work has been getting harder and harder as the days get longer. We never seem to have enough time to get things done; then we're told we need to do more. Our blueprints for an experimental miniature of the rocket are nearing completion, but Heiderich_ _says we won't be ready to start constructing even the miniature model for another month or two. _

I'd rather be searching for the Philosopher's Stone again, than to sit around and endure this mindless waiting.

_However, in my spare time—on days that aren't suited for driving— I have had the opportunity to explore the city. There is a police man who's stationed near the bar; he could be Hughes' double. And the woman who works at the corner market is identical to Gracia. _

I have had a hard time deciding whether or not I like them, because of such things. It'd be so easy to let stories slip if I talked to them. . . to automatically assume that they are the same person on either side of the Gate. But that would be ignorant of me.

Still, there is a part of me that wishes to see more familiar faces—Mustang, Hawkeye, Armstrong, Rose, Winry… hell, even Scar. Seeing them; even though they make me want to cry and laugh and scream and do SOMETHING (but what, I'm not sure) all at once; they still give me such a strange sense of peace.

'_I am not crazy. I did not dream it all.'_

_Heiderich_ _believes me. I just have to keep believing me. _

_I know you're out there, Al. _

And I'm going to find you soon.

—_Ed  
_

**XXX**

_Yea! That's the end of chapter two. BIG THANKS to everyone who have been reading—I'm shocked by how many people are already in love with this fic! XD You guys rock! (hugs)_

_(PS. ZOMG. I don't know how it happened, but it did—I have a FAN SITE. (I can't believe it!) Really! **KuroiKeiko** from the Elricest livejournal community made one for me! (blush) It's so beautiful—it archives some of my Elricest art, writing, and music. And they'll be more up, soon! So, if anyone else considers themselves my…um, well, fans (blushes more), please check it out…?_

_**http(:)(twoslashes)driftingdreams(.)net(slash)showcase(slash)jennifer(slash)random(slash)moon(underscore)maiden(slash)**_

_XD)_


	3. Letter Three

_Disclaimer: Edward, Alexander, Rosalie, and all of their little friends are sorta mine… but that's about it. _

Author's Note: Okay! Here we are with chapter three. XD And for all of you people who are only reading this on You missed a BONUS SMUT chapter. Yeah, that's right: a some-what pointless, NC-17 rated, four-some between Ed, Edward, Al, and Alex at the Gate (via a dream).

If you wish to get your hands on it, find yourself the Elricest Livejournal community (it's easy to locate with google) and scroll down a little. It's under the recent entries page, and it's written by me: moonmaiden36. X3

Of course, if you don't want to read it, that's fine, too. It's only going to be mentioned VAUGLY in the actual chapter-fic story—you won't have missed anything. I promise. ('Cept smut, obviously.)

_On that note, please enjoy chapter three! _

**XXX **

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I really don't know when it happened.

My falling in love with Alex, I mean. It's not something that happens often, not even to gay people. At least, that's what I assume—I went on a search at the library for books and movies on homosexuals-wanting-to-fuck-their-baby-brothers-senseless; came up with nothing. And we all know that authors' and screenwriters' like to write the raunchiest stuff they can think of.

Either this is way _too_ raunchy, even for them, or they just don't think of it.

So I don't really have many cases to compare mine to. I wish I could say it was 'love at first sight'—'cause you know that those situations never work out and then I could explain this away. (Seriously. Look at Cinderella a couple months down the line and I promise things won't be quite as happy as I'm sure she'd thought they'd be.) But no, in fact, I hated Alexander for years. We're so close in age; it's hard to play big brother to someone who's so much smarter than you. Really—you'd think I'd have had the advantage, being taller and stronger, but when your opponent has brains; not to mention, being the somewhat sickly runt he was, mom and dad on his side…

Well, let's just say that Alex won a majority of our fights in the early years. I'd raise a fist, he'd cough out for help, I'd be in time-out. God, I could have killed him. And I distinctly remember wishing on the candles of my fifth birthday cake for Alex to get chickenpox; revenge for all the joy he'd taken from seeing me suffer with them.

But of course, he just happened to be one of the few lucky bastards who never had to endure them. It figures, you know? Though he had to go through quite a few more bouts of the flu than I did… equivalent exchange, I guess.

By the time Al was six, we were almost always at each other's throats. Wresting, scuffling, biting, punching, kicking… Oh, sure, we got along sometimes—when we visited Grandpa, when mom and dad were in the room, when Rosalie was crying, or when we both wanted to stay up late. But you show us a cookie? We were on the ground, ready to kill for possession of it.

… Maybe that was when it started. My little "crush" on Alex, that is. During all of that fighting.

Because after a while, he finally started fighting back. In fact, by the time he was four, he stopped screaming for mom and dad entirely—he was ready: feet placed, fists raised. And God, he's beautiful when he's mad; face flushed, lips pursed, silvery eyes rippling like mercury. He could take my breath away. Literally, too, by that point—he packs a strong punch. And I adored sparring with him. Heck, I even began to find that I had a growing respect for him… that he _could_ take a beating, but never stop trying. That he didn't give up.

In the end, I think he realized the same. He began to listen to me more. Obeyed, once in a while, when I asked him nicely to do something.

And I found that his smile was even more adorable than his frown.

Of course, now I can list a year's worth of things I love about him—his laugh, his blush, his intelligence, his honesty… the way he looks when he's asleep… all of those corny things they talk about in the movies.

But unlike the movies…

Well, he's my _brother_. And if authors' and screenwriters' don't want to talk about gay incest, why should he?

**X **

X

X

**XXX **

Skeletons

XXX

Fudo High wasn't one of the worst schools in the world—of that, Alexander was certain. The teachers were nice enough, the students were relatively friendly, and the surrounding grounds were nice and green. They didn't get too much homework, and there were plenty of after school activities for everyone. Heck, even their uniforms weren't so horrible: plaid skirts for girls and plaid pants for boys, with white, button-up shirts and matching plaid ties. Rosalie looked like a goddess in hers; Edward a supermodel… Personally, Alex thought he looked like a dork, but it didn't matter anyway. Of the three Elric kids, he was the least popular. Not to say that he was hated, not by any means; he had dozens of friends. But he was nowhere near as beloved as Rosie—who had nearly the entire freshman year at her command— and Ed, who, despite all but screaming his sexual preferences over the PA system, continued to be drooled over by the entire female student population. (And a good share of the male population, too.)

Still, Alexander hated the place. And not, as he told his parents, just because it was boring—which wasn't a lie, he felt absolutely no academic stimulation whatsoever in this hellhole—

But because he couldn't _stand_ having to deal with his brother's admirers. Or, hell, even his brother in general.

Oh, it wasn't entirely Edward's fault, of course. He was naturally charming, there was no other boy in the school who could hold a candle to his looks (except, perhaps, Todd Multare, but everyone knew that Lisa Nightingale had her sharp amber eyes on him and consequently left him be—for fear of Lisa's infamous wrath), and he had the annoying tendency of being nice to _everybody_, nerds and jocks alike. So everyone knew him, everyone loved him, and everyone (it seemed) wanted to get into his pants.

And that sucked.

For Alex, anyway. As he was the one to whom all questions were directed. 'What's his favorite color?' _Blue_. 'Where does he usually hang out?' _The basement_. 'Is he busy on Saturday?' _I dunno_. 'Is he gonna star in the next play?' _Probably._ 'Would he go out with me if he were straight?' _How the hell should I know?_

And so it went. On and on until Alexander couldn't stand it; 'til he wanted to punch every squealing girl in the face. Thus, he spent a lot of time by himself, trying to keep his temper—eating his lunch alone on the top of a little grassy knoll near the baseball field. He found it helped to keep him sane, these moments alone: watching his peers play as he ate his PB&J or read a book. Always the same… day after day.

'_I hate this school_,' he mused darkly, biting loudly down on an apple. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched a short, bespeckled boy named Gary race after a pop fly. (Though he wasn't mad at Gary so much as he was Gary's little sister, Anna, who'd been the most recent victim of Edward's indelible charisma. And now she was suffering from the undying desire to "eat him up with a spoon.") '_Dammit, Brother, sometimes I think you do this just to irritate me._' Alexander muffled a yawn as his stomach did an uncomfortable somersault, dropping his half-eaten fruit back into his paper sack with a grimace. Then he flopped over in despair.

"…"

The sky was pretty today; a bright cerulean capped with mountain-swirl clouds. Ed was probably off sketching, as he always did on beautiful days during lunch break…and study hall…and any other class he could get away with it in. Al tried not to think about it. His brother was on his mind way too much as it was; and he had no right to be mad at him for things that weren't his fault. What was he, anyway, jealous? Not of the attention—he had never been one who wished to be fought over or desired. And it wasn't like he had any right to try and keep his elder sibling all to himself. Besides the fact that it wasn't fair, it wasn't really… well, _normal_, either.

Alex frowned, squeezing his eyes shut against the bright sun. His head sorta hurt… '_I do NOT have a crush on Edward,_' the boy told himself firmly, though the venom behind the words had long since run dry; replaced with weariness. So tired… '_It's just Grandpa's stupid diary playing tricks on my head.'_

Speaking of which…

He sat up again, his ponytail ruffled from the grass and his movements, reaching for his black school bag. '_Where did I p—? Ah._' It was there, stuffed in his front pocket—looking innocent and somewhat expensive in the warm, early autumn light.

Pulling it out with a hesitant glance to either side, Alexander allowed the book to fall open in his lap, picking up where he last left off.

**X**

_October, 1921_

_Dear Al, _

_I'm sorry. I know it's been months since I last wrote. But really, there's been nothing to say. I spend all of my time looking for you—in the streets, in the sky, in my dreams. I'm withering away, Alphonse. I know I have to keep moving forward, I know I've got to—but it's hard to wake up in the mornings. I'd rather just lie in bed until I die. _

_Or freeze to death. Fall is brutal here. _

_  
Heiderich has been trying his best to keep me sane. He really has. He'll drag me out of bed, force food down my throat, and kick me all the way down the street to work. It must take a lot out of him, having to deal with me. In fact, I think all of the stress I've put him through is finally catching up with him; he seems to be developing a cold. He sure is coughing a lot, anyway. _

_  
I'll make him some soup when he comes home. I hope I don't burn down the kitchen. _

Oh, there he is now.

I'll write soon, Al. I promise.

—Ed

**X**

'_I wonder how many years these entries span…?_' Alex thought vaguely, lazily resting his chin in his hand. He sneezed, snuffled, then shook his head to clear it. His belly curled oddly again. '_Originally I thought they'd cover about a year, but Grandpa sure didn't write much. Only about once a month—if even. Though I suppose he couldn't have had much to say, other then that he missed Al.'_ The brunette frowned lightly, chewing on his bottom lip. _'I wonder what I'd say in a letter if Edward and I ever got separated…?_' He couldn't think of much. He'd be too preoccupied with trying to find his brother again; not sitting around moping about their predicament. And Alex could only assume Grandpa felt the same way.

Mostly.

Except that their grandfather sure was mushy about missing his younger sibling.

'_Maybe he really was in love with this—what was his name? Alphonse?'_

Alexander blushed when the musing crossed his mind, shaking his head instinctively. "He can't have been," he mumbled dully; his voice sounded somewhat horse, even to his own ears. He coughed. What was the matter with him today? "I mean, he obviously married someone… right?"

…right?

Though Alex couldn't—for the life of him— remember ever calling someone on his father's side of the family 'grandma.' Blinking slowly (and in a state of mild confusion) at this sudden realization, the boy straightened. Did they even HAVE a grandmother on his dad's side? He'd never thought about it. They'd grown up knowing Gramma Walz on their mom's side; it hadn't occurred to him that they'd needed (or even had) another one.

The brunette was just about to stand up in search of his older brother to inquire his opinion on the matter when, out of nowhere, he heard a familiar voice humming what seemed to be a Phil Collins song. Seemed to be because it was. And there was only one teenage guy who would (without massive quantities of liquor involved) sing a song from Tarzan in public.

"_Why can't they understand the way we feel? They just don't trust what they can't explain. I know we're different but, deep inside us, we're not that different at all._"

Ed.

Getting to his knees and squinting against the sun, Alex turned to his right—

And there, on the hill beside him, was Edward. His tie loosened, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, and his sketchbook propped open against his knees, he was twisted at an angle which suggested that he'd been watching Alexander; a hypothesis which proved to be true when he lifted his smoldering tawny gaze from his drawings. They were glued smack on his face.

Alex, despite all of his internal struggles to stop it, felt a flush rise on his face.

Ed, in turn, grinned widely, waving. "Hey, Al!" he called innocently, all bubbles and sunshine. "I'm almost done, you wanna see?"

"Um…" Alexander hesitated, still somewhat taken aback (and a little annoyed at having been caught so unaware. What was Edward doing here?), before shrugging and getting to his feet. (He ignored the way the world seemed to tilt oddly as he did so.) "I… I guess."

Which was how he found himself, just a few minutes later, leaning casually against Ed's back, arms wrapped lightly around his neck, chin on his shoulder; watching his brother smudge the last few lines of graphite into place. Al noted his technique silently, lashes slothfully drooping in the hot rays of the noon-day sun. Despite his continued, vehement insistence that he did NOT love his brother in "that way," Alex couldn't deny that he liked being close to him, when given the chance. He was so nice and warm… solid. Like he'd always be there, smelling of spicy aftershave and faint cigarette smoke.

"Brother…?" he drawled sluggishly, feeling more and more irritatingly tired. _'I wonder why?'_ Probably from all of those dull lessons… or from the sun… or the hours he'd spent reading Grandpa's journal last night.

"Yeah, Al?" Ed inquired quietly, concentrating most of his energy on completing the final details of his sketch. When he spoke, his voice reverberated through Alexander's chest; low in volume and pitch… Alex watched his intense face noiselessly, admiring the way the sun glinted off of it—the way his brother nibbled on the tip of his tongue while he worked.

He colored again, but the hue was lost as he hid his face.

"Did we have a Grandma Elric?"

"…" Edward paused for a moment, mildly surprised, casting his younger sibling a furtive glance before continuing with his work. "…I suppose at one time, we did," he finally replied, without any sort of inflection. "Dad must have been related to Grandpa by blood—they look too much alike for him to have been adopted or anything. I guess she must have died before we were born."

Alexander pouted a bit, staring blankly out over the baseball field. "...but I thought you said that Grandpa loved his brother. You seemed pretty sure of it."

Ed stiffened slightly, looked a bit baffled. And rather flustered, too. "Well, I— he could have, still. Maybe he just married for appearances sake. But really, Alex, why're you asking me this?"

"Why're you singing 'You'll Be In My Heart' during lunch break?" Alex countered, despite the fact that this had nothing to do with anything. But in his mind, the transition made perfect sense. He snuffled a little bit more. Why'd he feel so fuzzy?

"'Cause I felt like it," Edward announced boldly, grinning from ear to ear. And thus, with a flourish and the date, he lifted the pad up a few inches higher. "Like it?" he inquired merrily, watching for Al's reaction.

"…" Dazedly, Alex reached out and lightly grabbed the corner of the paper with a hand that suddenly felt much too heavy. Then he looked.

Really looked.

"Wow…" he murmured, silvery eyes lighting up a bit as he recognized himself. "It's really good, Brother…" And it was. Soft and sketchy, as if to capture a single moment in time, the drawing was of Alexander with his nose in the diary—hair fluttering in the wind while the long grass rustled around him. It was almost like they were really moving… "Though I don't know why you chose to draw me… rather than all of those other kids over there. They'd make much more interesting models."

Edward graced this vaguely slurred comment with an arched eyebrow. "That's a matter of opinion," he lightly quipped—though his cheeks looked a little pinker than usual. "Personally, I find you an incredibly interesting model. You're so expressive all of the time! You never look the same. It's quite fascinati— Al?"

Ed straightened abruptly, eyes widening as they pierced his brother's unexpectedly sweaty face. "Al?" he repeated, more urgently, as the younger teen continued to weakly lower his head." Al; you're so pale— Are you okay?"

"Mmmm… don't really… feel well," Alex muttered softly, slowly starting to slide backwards… "'rry…"

"Alex—? ALEXANDER!"

**X**

_November, 1921_

_Dear Al, _

_I've been traveling a lot, lately. Research for Heiderich mostly, but also for me. Possible ways to open the Gate without alchemy. It's kind of like searching for the Philosopher's Stone again, because everyone makes it seem impossible. To cross the Gate, that is. _

Mainly because most of them have never even heard of alchemy, much less the Gate.

I don't know how I'm going to pull this off. But I know that I can't just give up. I'm sure that, wherever you are, you're looking, too. Right?

We can't lose faith. Not yet.

—Ed

**X**

"Dammit, Al! You gave me such a scare!"

Alex cast a guilty glance towards his wall, trying to avoid his brother's furious eyes. "I'm sorry…" he murmured for what seemed to be the hundredth time. But it was actually more like the thousandth. "I _am_… I didn't mean to worry you…"

Edward, who somehow managed to look intimidating even when dressed in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, stared coldly down at his brother, wringing a cool washcloth out over a basin on Alexander's nightstand. Then, with a sigh, he placed the rag gently on the brunette's clammy forehead, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. "…I know you didn't do it _intentionally_," the older boy finally grumbled, toying with a loose strand of Al's hair. "But fuck, Al; you fainted dead away! Why'd you go to school if you felt so terrible?"

"I didn't—! Not this morning, anyway," Alexander insisted, sniffling a bit. He pulled his blankets more tightly around him, trying to ignore that awful feeling one tends to get when ill: that feeling which leaves a person somewhere between freezing and frying. "I just… right before lunch… and all of the sudden…"

"…" Ed didn't reply for a moment, too preoccupied with twisting an auburn lock around and around his finger. Then he grinned. "Well… at least it wasn't in response to my art. I mean, I was gonna say—that would be the worst review I ever got, if it was."

Was that… supposed to be funny…?

"Why would your art make me sick…?" Alex wheezed hesitantly, not sure if he was entirely on-board with the joke. Or perhaps he was just thrown for a loop; leave it to Edward to be completely homicidal one minute, and laughing it off the next. "I told you before, it was really good…"

The blonde smiled somewhat sadly. "But you didn't seem to like the subject matter too much." He paused, chuckling a bit at Alexander's bewildered expression. "…do I make you sick, too, Al?" he asked faintly, unable to keep his voice from cracking.

And Alex was astonished to see a single, crystalline tear collecting in the corner of his brother's eye.

He gulped.

". . . why?"

Edward blinked blankly down at him, hastily trying to rub his face clean. But Alex caught the fist in his own… gaze narrowing in bewilderment. "Why would you make me sick, Brother?"

…the blonde didn't respond. Instead, lips tugging upward in a tender beam, he lightly ruffled Alexander's hair. "Never mind," he insisted gently. "Get some sleep. The doctor said this was partially caused by exhaustion and stress. I don't know what you've been doin' so frantically, but you clearly need a break from it."

"Ah…!" Alex coughed in mild disappointment as Ed pulled away, moving to leave. '_What was that all about—?_' "Wait, Brother—!"

Edward paused; casting Al a glance from over his shoulder. Alexander simply pointed, slowly turning three different shades of green.

"Can you pass that bucket? I feel like I'm gonna thr—!"

So Ed passed it.

Just in time.

**X**

_December, 1921_

_Dear Al, _

_There's a holiday here that I have never heard of. They call it 'Christmas.' Heiderich celebrates it, and is teaching me how. There's a lot of religion behind it, though—I dunno if I like that. Apparently, some kid by the name of Jesus was born to a virgin (despite the impossibility of it all) on the 25th of December and grew up to be the messiah or something. So Christians all around the world (Christians, derived from his name, Jesus Christ, I suppose) celebrate the day he was born by killing a tree and decorating it with lights and giving each other presents and singing bunches of strange songs. It's weird. _

But you know what the weirdest part of it is, Al?

I think I actually like it.

_I was surprised, too. But it's… it's hard not to, what with all of the warmness that encases the city—warmness that even the biting cold can't kill. It's snowy and dark almost all of the time, but things just seem brighter. People are kinder to strangers, the pine trees they cut glow so beautifully through the night, the songs are somehow nostalgic… And everyone is smiling. Like the world really is a nice place. _

_  
I made Heiderich a Christmas present. Out of some spare metal Hohenheim keeps around to make my spare arms and legs. It's a little rocket. Or, at least, it's supposed to be; it's kinda hard to tell, 'cause the wings are sort of bent. But I think it looks close enough. I hope he likes it. _

I wonder what you'd like, Al? I'll get you something special, I think, and save it. Then I'll give it to you when we meet again. Or perhaps I'll make you wait for the next Christmas. I think you'll like the holiday once you've had a chance to celebrate it; maybe even more than I like it. I can see you loving the weird songs and food… you would adore all of the lights on the tree. And you'd eat up all the benevolence people show to one another on the streets. In fact, I think you were made for Christmas.

And I look forward to sharing hundreds of Christmases with you in the future, so wait for me, okay?

—Ed

**X**

It wasn't an unusual scene— despite being the youngest and 'daddy's little girl,' Rosalie Elric was, by far, the most open minded and outspoken person in the family. Much to their father's chagrin when it came to certain topics…

Edward, in the middle of a quick pencil sketch on the love seat, and Alex, who was wrapped in a blanket on the couch in the corner, watched in mild amusement as the ending theme of _Numb3rs_ was interrupted by fighting. Again.

Or, should they say, 'as usual.'

"Rosie," their father growled from behind the newspaper— his trim golden beard shuddering— "I don't know how to make this any clearer to you. There's a REASON people tend to be prejudice against gays and the like. It's because it's WRONG."

"How can you say that!" Rosalie snarled, glaring daggers. "How? When knowing full well that other peoples' happiness is on the line?"

"I'm sorry, Rosie, but it's just disgusting," Mr. Elric spat, ruffling his paper in an attempt to hide the fury in his voice. Edward mutely ran his eraser down one edge of his paper. "It's not natural."

"According to who? YOU? What makes it so unnatural? Plenty of animals are gay—you see it in the zoos. Heck, you see it in backyards! You used to have dogs, right?" she huffed, crossing her arms and legs. Their mother, who had just walked through the living room door with a basket of laundry, took one look at this pose and then walked right back out again.

"Rosie, that's a lie; how would we be able to procre—" their dad started to sigh—

"NOT EVERYONE IS FREAKIN' GAY, DAD. And why the hell should _you_ care what other people do? Aren't you comfortable in your own sexuality? **They** don't threaten **you**. They don't tell you that YOU _have_ to be gay. And it's not like _they_ CHOOSE to be gay! Who would, with all the shit people like you put them through?"

"…" Ed curled a little tighter around his sketchbook, brow furrowed as if in concentration. Alexander didn't dare look at him.

"Watching your language, young lady," Mr. Elric snapped, folding his newspaper into a neat square. Then, taking a deep breath, he removed his glasses in an attempt to clean them. Or, at least, to busy his hands. "And I'm sorry. It's just not _natural._ If God—"

"_If God didn't want guys making out, he wouldn't have put pleasure spots up their asses_!" Rosie countered without a moment's hesitation. Her father's face flamed.

Heck, so did Ed and Alex's.

"_Rosalie Catharine—!_" the man spluttered, cheeks splotching with angry color. "When will this madness stop!"

"When you finally accept the fact that not everyone sees the world the same way you do," she glowered, periwinkle eyes narrowing in distaste. Her father snorted, carefully placing his spectacles back on his head.

"This coming from the girl who thinks Charlie and Don should start making out," he all but gagged, waving vaguely at the television screen. Rosie arched an inquisitive eyebrow.

"So?"

"SO?" Mr. Elric choked. "So they're _brothers_! That's— that's like if Edward and Alexander started making out! Wouldn't that horrify you?"

Rosalie said nothing. But her wicked smile spoke volumes.

And that was the brothers' cue to get the hell out of there.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed," Alex rapidly rasped, feeling a little more lightheaded that he should. It wasn't good for his health to be down here amidst all of these racing ideas an arguments… he was starting to feel more confused than ever. And all of that anxiety tended to make him feel like he was going to vomit. Yes, what he really needed was some time alone.

But that was beginning to look as if it was going to be difficult to achieve: Edward had stood at the same time he had, sketchbook under his arm as he determinedly avoided his father's stare. Not that Alex could really blame him for wanting to bolt right away. Anyone in their right mind would. (Except Rosie. But she was born insane, everyone knew that.)

Still, being with Ed while he was _this_ befuddled was the last think Alexander needed…

"I'll help you," Ed murmured inaudibly, gingerly taking Al's arm and leading him in the direction of the hallway. Alex swallowed, about to resist the help—but decided, in the end, to accept it. It would be too much work to protest…. And if Edward needed an excuse to get out of there, Alexander was more than happy to provide it.

The hallway was cold and dark in comparison to the living room; lacking all of its bright lights, warm furniture, and worn carpeting. But the hall, in contrast, was blissfully quiet in its shadowed way, and that was all they wanted right now—trying vainly the block out the continued sound of screaming.

Their footsteps echoed off of the wooden floor.

Alex tried to force a smile. "Rosie sure is… um, opinionated." (The understatement of the year, many would call that.)

Edward didn't respond. He didn't even crack a smile. His face was as hard as stone.

"Do you think she'll ever talk some sense into him?" Alexander tried again, feebly; furious with how weak and crumbly his voice sounded. '_I hate being sick._'

But if Ed heard the question, he ignored it. Instead, he asked—in a voice as stiff as his expression— "Do you that think I'm a coward?"

…that was unexpected.

"Huh?"

"Do you think that I'm a coward," Edward repeated, opening the door to their bedroom and helping Alex inside. Moonlight was spilling through the window in bright shades of sapphire and indigo. The rays lit up the walls; spilling over their personal treasures; illuminating their faces as if the sun were still shining. "For not telling dad that I'm gay."

Alexander felt his mouth tug upwards in a tiny smirk. "No. I think you're not suicidal."

Ed snorted, helping ease Alex down upon his bed. But rather than lay, the younger boy watched his brother lock the door, switch on the ceiling fan, and open the window— all before turning around to desperately fish through the bottom of his sock drawer. The brunette's face darkened upon seeing this little performance; it was a familiar scenario.

"You told me that you'd quit," he said tightly as Edward tapped out a cigarette from a lonely, crumpled box; lighting it with a stray match. Ed shrugged, finally calming as he perched himself on the windowsill, arms draped over his kneecaps. He took a long drag.

"I did," he then announced, casting Al a glance from the window. His eyes were alive, glowing like embers. They must have been embers; why else would Alex's face feel like it was on fire? ('_It must be the fever…_' To counter it, he quickly popped two pills of Nyquil.) "These are just for stressful occasions."

"And what's the big stress now?" Al inquired with a cough, wrapping himself more securely in his quilt. The cool wind coming through the window made his head hurt… he didn't know how Edward could stand it, with nothing but a pair of unzipped jeans on.

"Well, I—" But then he froze, swiftly sitting up— cursing as he noticed Alexander's shivers. "Oh shit—! I'm sorry, Al! I wasn't thinking…!" Without a second thought, he stubbed out the cigarette on the back of a textbook, threw it outside, and locked the window again. The fan was off an instant later, and then there was Ed—kneeling in front of his trembling younger sibling.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, truly looking it. "I really wasn't thinking… you're not too cold, are you?" Alex shook his head, but his body wouldn't stop quivering. Edward's eyes lit up with concern; a graceful hand lifted to push away the brunette's long, draping bangs.

'_My face must feel much warmer than it should…_' Al thought blearily, embarrassed. His brother's palm almost felt too cool against his flushed skin…like ice. '_He shouldn't touch me, I might burn him…_' The illogical thought made sense in his hazy mind; he lifted a hand to brush the other's away— but ended up grasping it, instead; tugging it down to mingle with his own.

"!" Ed stiffened with shock as Alex suddenly dropped forward, resting his head against his brother's shoulder. "Al…?"

"Brother," Alex muttered, sounding slurred and strange, even in his own ears. His mouth was like cotton… "if Grandpa was gay, why is his kid such a homophobe…?"

Edward swallowed thickly, trying not to think of the warm body which was pressed so close to his own. "I don't know," he then whispered, giving an odd little jolt when Alexander's fingers tightened around his. "But it doesn't matter for you, does it?" he continued casually, brushing a few strands of Al's hair away from his sweat-drenched neck. "I mean, you're straight."

"Mmmm… I dunno," Alexander burbled, yawning widely. His free hand clenched around his elder sibling's loose locks. "Maybe I'm gay, too… sometimes I think I might be…" He closed his eyes, grinning a bit drunkenly. "Hey, Brother… your heart is beating really, really fast…"

"Is it?" Ed choked, trying to sound calm—but really, he was just very, very thankful that Alex was only molesting his top half. _'It's only the medication talking, Edward. Don't do anything stupid—_!'

"Yeah…" Alex mumbled with a soft sigh. "But… so is mine…"

And with that, he fell asleep.

**X**

_December, 1921_

_Dear Al, _

_It's New Years Eve tonight— there sure are a lot of holidays in December. There's no present giving during this one, though, or dead trees, or songs. Heiderich says New Years Eve is more of a personal holiday; to reflect on what has happened to you this past year, and decide on what you want to do in the future. I told him that the last thing I need to do is reflect more on my past. He just laughed and told me that, if that was the case, I should focus on the future aspect of the day. I mentioned that I obsessed over **that** on a daily basis, as well; a fact which he didn't deny. But he told me that I might as well try out the holiday, anyway, and see if I don't end up liking it just the same._

_So here I am trying. _

…mostly trying NOT to think about this past year, actually. Because really, how could I ever truly absorb what occurred? The first half of the year I was with you—then you were taken away from me, and I was thrown through the Gate. It was a price I was willing (and am still willing) to pay to see you alive again, but…

_  
And then there was the second half of this year: trying to fit into a world which I clearly do not belong to with people I do not know who have never heard of my homeland or of my job. _

_A world without you. _

And thus, this brings me to my ever-so-obvious resolution: to get you back. (I bet you could never see that one coming, eh, Al? Ha ha.)

_. . . Heiderich also says this is the holiday to tell people how you feel. There are other, similar holidays, but in the wake of "the past and the future combining," as he so artistically puts it, I suppose I might as well keep to tradition. _

_  
I love you, Al. And I plan to tell you that in a million different ways once I find you again. _

_  
I guess you could call that my second resolution. _

Here's to a new year, Alphonse.

—Ed

**XXX**

_You all probably hate me now, don't you? Sorry… but c'mon, you don't wanna see Edward take advantage of his drugged little brother, do you? _

…okay, well, how about **I** _don't want to see Edward take advantage of his drugged little brother? _

(Oh, and yeah, Nyquil really does do that to you… or, at least, it does that to me. o.O)

In any case, I hope you enjoyed! I'll try to update again, soon. X3

_(PS. Some of you were asking about my fansite—the link wasn't working when you tried the one posted to the end of last chapter? If that's true, please try the link posted on my bio, 'kay? Thanks for showing interest! XD (hugs))_


	4. Letter Four

_Disclaimer: Oh yeah, I SO pwn this. (And yes, I'm a horrible liar. XD) _

Author's Note: Ah, what an appropriate way to start a chapter! While in the middle of a fight with my mom over Elricest. Love is love, dammit. That's all I'm gonna say. X3

Enjoy chapter four:D

**XXX **

X

X

X

I'd been wondering about Alex's sexual preferences (guy or girl, that is) for… well, I hesitate to say "too long"... let's just stick with "a while." A long while. And though I usually chalked said musings up to 'wishful thinking' on my part, I did notice a few 'suspicious' things to back up any hesitant claims I might have made. Like how Alex never seemed particularly interested in spying on the girls' locker room—a pastime in which many of his friends partook. Then there's his apparent love of 'chick flicks': _Titanic, Two Weeks Notice, A Walk to_ _Remember_… Though I suppose I'm making a broad generalization; hell, even _I_ don't like those films much. But hey— if you'd seen him during _Kate and Leopold_, you'd have your doubts, too.

Finally—and perhaps my biggest tip off that 'something' was going on in The Wonderful World of Al— I took misgivings in his recent behavior.

'Recent' being the past year or so.

He doesn't smile anymore. At least, not as often as he used to— now he's all frowns and nervous yelling and blushes. And as adorable as he is when he turns red (and as much as I love to tease him about it), it's just not the same. Alex is meant to live in Technicolor; he's made to be laughing and beaming and cheerful and real.

I worry about him when he's not.

I prodded Mom into giving me her opinion on the matter— on his sudden reserve and frequent glowers—; she just said that he's being moody. Like I was during puberty. And the only reason _I_ was so moody during puberty was all of the 'finding myself' shit I went through. Or 'confronting my inner gay,' as Rosie likes to put it. So of course that got me wondering…

But I told myself I was being crazy. Al does plenty of "non-gay" things, too: he had a girlfriend, back in 8th grade. True, she only lasted a week, and he was the one who broke things off (I was admittedly too happy about that), but she still existed. And he loves reading lemons on the internet. (Blackmail is fun.)

Which brings me to the most pressing question: where does that leave me?

Answer: My little brother—who's bones I'd love to jump— _might_ be gay. That's where. He _might _be gay, just like the sky _might_ turn pink and sprout green polka dots; just like I _might_ pass chemistry and math this semester.

I don't know if that's a good thing, that "might" (I mean, c'mon, then I'd at least have a **chance**); but I do know this—

My heart _was _beating quickly when Alex, however drugged, muttered that he might like boys… Quickly and loudly.

And so was his.

I could hear it.

**X **

X

X

**XXX **

Skeletons

XXX

Alexander's illness progressed for a little less than a week—nothing horrible or life-threatening, or even enough to keep him out of school. (Heck, after the first night, it was really only a mild discomfort: like wet underwear.) Nothing he couldn't—or wasn't used to— handling, no matter how unpleasantly his stomach rolled or puckered. He was tough. He was determined.

… and he was getting compensation, in a sense. Or at least, in his opinion: while sick, Alex was fortunate enough to enjoy a great deal of attention; attention lavished upon him by the certain someone who slept on the top bunk. Edward, despite his usual laziness, was a blessing when it came to dealing with illness—their mother often said he'd be a wonderful physician. He was always so calm and soothing… And Alexander couldn't deny (not even _privately_) that it was nice— nice to be able to spend time with Ed and not be bothered by… well, himself: always so busy, in the back of his mind, trying to come up with an excuse to be annoyed or a reason to go.

Perhaps the doctor had been right; perhaps Alex _was_ suffering from anxiety disorder, not a cold. Because he certainly felt better once he had loosened up a bit—allowed Edward to sketch him while he played with Alchemy; and laughing when Rosie lost at Uno and threw a mock fit. In fact, the brunette soon realized that he felt better _now_ than he had in a long time, churning belly or not.

But… there was one thing still hanging rather heavily on his mind.

That night. The one where he'd taken the Nyquil.

…He couldn't really remember what happened.

Oh, sure, he had a basic (if somewhat fuzzy) idea—he'd watched TV with his family, Ed had helped him to bed, they'd talked… but somewhere in that mesh of foggy memory he'd wound up saying some things he probably shouldn't have. At least, he was pretty sure he had... ('_Did I…?_')

That, and he'd woken up to find Edward dozing next to him: sitting on the floor beside Alex's bed with his head in his crossed arms. It went without saying that Al had freaked out upon seeing this— '_What on Earth happened!'_—but he was quickly pacified by his wearily annoyed, only-half-conscious brother, who curtly informed Alex that he'd fallen asleep gripping a sizeable chunk of Ed's hair. And he'd refused to let it go.

"…Oh," had been Alexander's incredibly articulate response to this discovery. But still, though admittedly calmer, he continued to feel as if he'd let something slip… something secret.

Not that he could tell one way or another from the way Edward was acting; after a brief nap, his older sibling had been as good as new—jovial, if not nonchalant about everything. He'd assured Al that it was fine, he hadn't minded staying up late ("I had some things I wanted to think about, anyway.") and that he was just glad Alex 'had gotten the rest he needed.'

This, of course, equated to Edward being either the world's most caring older sibling, or a desperate teenage boy trying to sweep something unusual under the rug. Because really, that just wasn't normal. Who in their right mind would say something so thoughtful to someone who'd kept them up all night?

With all of that in mind, Alexander had personally staked his claim on the latter: 'a pretty way to cover his own ass.' But… well, in all honesty, he was probably just being paranoid. Things didn't seem odd between Alex and his brother; not in the least— so if he _had_ said anything, anything even mildly incriminating, it was probably just something stupid.

…He hoped.

**X**

_February, 1922_

_Dear Al, _

_Do you remember winters in Resembool? When the ground was all snowy, and the trees were made of ice, and the wind could cut through you like a million shards of glass? Remember how freezing it was, how much we hated it? How we used to tell Mom that the North would be cake compared to Resembool's winters? _

Resembool has **nothing** on Munich.

_  
It's like the cold will never end—the streets are frozen, the houses are frostbitten, there's never enough wood to build a big fire or enough blankets to keep truly warm… The dismal temperatures wreck havoc on my arm and leg. (Even though they're not metal anymore, the ports still ache like crazy in weather this miserable.) Heiderich seemed to notice how much trouble they were causing me, and offered to massage the hurt out—as he's seen me try to do, no matter how awkwardly. I told him no, thanks. _

I don't know, Al. I shouldn't be so cold to him, I know I shouldn't. But whenever I'm around him… He doesn't even look that much like you, you know? At a distance, maybe, but up close…

Still, it's enough to make me want to cry. And you know me—I don't cry. I hate crying. And so I try to avoid being touched at all costs.

_I think it hurts his feelings. _

I hope he can forgive me.

—_Ed  
_

**X  
**

He wasn't used to this.

Edward scowled at the blank canvas he'd placed on his easel, hooking his feet around the legs of his stool. The chair squeaked. His hands gripped the seat between his thighs; he rocked back in forth in place, chewing on the tip of a paintbrush. The chair squeaked again, clattering rhythmically against the cement basement floor.

". . ."

His expression turned sour, brow furrowing in utter frustration when nothingcame to him. Absolutely nothing. Nothing but a dull buzzing… Ed's mind was too full; a whirl of noises and thoughts as white and overwhelming as the canvas before him.

At this point, the blonde surprised himself by cursing sulkily, muttering the bitter word around the handle of his brush. He glared at the tray of paints beside him, hands itching to throw them in a display of immature fury. But he knew he never would—he didn't want to deal with cleaning them up, for one, _and_ they were too expensive to waste.

Still, the thought was appealing…

"Creator's block?"

Ed deflated, blowing out his cheeks as the familiar voice bounced off of the walls; a thin hand simultaneously falling upon his shoulder. Rosie, now beside him, scrutinized the completely empty canvas, drumming her fingers idly. The action was somewhat annoying…

"I don't know," Edward groused, still nibbling on the end of his paintbrush. "I thought painting something would help, but I just… I can't get into the right state of mind."

"Oh?" Rosalie hummed flippantly, jutting out a hip as she stared at the whiteness— absorbing it. It really was sort of pathetic, all that whiteness… "There's a state of mind for this?"

Edward cast his sister a flat look, prodding her in the side with the blunt end of a pencil. "Not for doing _nothing_," he drawled, "but _yes_, for painting there is. For any sort of art there is. And I just can't get my brain to _shut up_ so as to achieve that state!" The teen kneaded his forehead as he said this, clearly aggravated— which Rosie noted with a genuine hint of surprise. Irritated? Her oldest brother was rarely anything other than… well, somewhat spacey. What in the world could have dragged him back down to Earth?

"Ed…?" she murmured, frowning lightly as Edward buried his face in his palms, muttering under his breath. She quickly removed her hand, abruptly aware of how tense his shoulder felt beneath her fingers. "Ed, wait, are you being serious here? Are you okay?"

A pause.

"… I don't know."

He nearly whispered it, sounding torn and flustered and furious all at once. Rosie was definitely surprised now, taking a physical step backwards as he lifted his head, glowering. "I don't know, Rosalie. I haven't been able to think straight for the past few days. I can't… I can't do anything!" he all but snarled, tugging at his hair as he curled in upon himself. "Whenever I do, I start thinking about him… and what he said… and how I'm being stupid, but I just can't stop myself!"

Well. This was certainly different. Rosalie leaned back against the cold wall, watching her brother attentively—greatly intrigued. "Alex?" she surmised without much effort, piercing her eldest sibling with her turquoise eyes. "Alex said something? What'd he say?"

"He was drugged at the time," Ed grumbled, returning to nibbling on the handle of his brush. His fingers twitched; Rosie could tell that he longed for his cigarettes. This only deepened her frown. '_They're both going to die from stress before they reach 30.' _"But he… he told me that he might… you know…" The blonde cleared his throat uncomfortably, shifting in his seat, making the stool rock. Rosie quirked an eyebrow, waiting. (She didn't have to wait too long.)

"That he might be gay, too."

... Despite it all, Rosalie couldn't bring herself to look too shocked— only amused. Greatly amused. "We sure have some strange genes in this family, don't we?" she all but sang, examining her chipping nail polish with a thoughtful little smile. "But really, I don't see why you're so horrified by this."

"_I am not horrified_!" Edward snapped—his little sister straightened, fully taken aback— but immediately calmed himself with a deep breath. Or two. Or three. (Ed fumed wordlessly, massaging his temples. He hated being angry; it made his head hurt.) A long, heavy moment dragged out between them… but after that pause he managed to relax. Albeit a bit forcefully.

"I am not horrified," Edward repeated calmly, twirling the now-thoroughly-chewed brush between his long fingers. His golden eyes remained fixed on the canvas, however; squinting, as if trying to see something through fog. "I just… I mean… it was _cruel_, almost. As if he _might_ clear one of the steps between us… but still…" The toying stopped; he slouched—now balancing precariously on top of the stool with his knees pulled to his chin. "Well, he'd be so much closer to me, but all the farther away."

". . ." Rosie couldn't help but grin. "Poetic," she complimented easily, sliding down the wall with a little sigh. "But pretty emo, too, big brother." She giggled, feeling his amber gaze flick towards her. "Though I guess you can't help it, being the overdramatic freak you are."

"Thanks, Rosie. Way to make me feel better in my hour of need."

"This isn't your hour of need," the girl assured dully, playing with a stray lock of her hair. "This is your hour of unnecessary griping. I mean, really, Edward. Did it ever occur to you to talk to _Alex_ about this?"

He graced her with a dry stare. "Did it ever occur to you to run out in front of a speeding bus? Because really, that's essentially what you're telling me to do."

A snort. "No, it's not," she quipped, eyes still lightly shut. "I'm not suggesting you go rape him, or anything—or even tell him how you feel. But Alex's guard is down right now, and I'm sure he needs someone to talk to. About what he's feeling, and all of that. Even _if_ the admission came as the result of a Nyquil-drugging, it still proves that the concern has been hanging heavily on his mind. And the fact that he **hasn't** mentioned it until now just shows that he's tearing himself up inside… or is for some reason afraid to see how we'll react to his potential preferences. Dunno why, but there you go."

Rosalie nodded, as if confirming this with herself. Edward just stared.

"…What're you, a physiatrist?" he then asked with a tiny smirk, looking at her from over his kneecaps. Rosie, in retort, glared at him; sticking out her tongue.

"I wouldn't have to be if you'd figure out your own problems, for once," she returned coldly. Apparently, she didn't appreciate being teased after doing someone a service. "Now go talk to Alex."

But to Rosalie's surprise (and irritation), Ed shook his head; turning away as he—was that a blush? "No."

"Go!" she growled, pointing a finger up the stairs. Both stood at the same time, glaring at the other—though Edward had a definite height advantage, towering a full foot over his sister.

"And say _what_?" he questioned grimly, placing his fists on the base of his hips, paintbrush jammed behind his ear. " 'Hey Al! Yeah, so, you gay?' "

Rosie graced him with an exasperated glare, matching his stance fist for fist. "You could try a little _tact_," she suggested icily, and with enough sarcasm to sink the Titanic, "but that's the basic idea, yes."

Her brother scoffed, rolling his eyes; her eyebrow ticked. "Dammit, Edward!" she hissed, throwing her hands up in vexation. "What IS it with guys and communication? It's key in a relationship, you know!" When he didn't reply, Rosie shook her head, turning away with a disgusted grunt. "_Men_! They make me wish I was a lesbian!"

"You ARE a lesbian," Ed couldn't help but counter, watching her storm up the stairs. It probably wasn't the wisest thing to say, in retrospect… Rosalie scowled—pausing on the middle step just long enough to flip him off. With both hands.

"_I'm bisexual_!"

"You tell that to Amy," he called, wincing as she slammed the door. But not loud enough to drown out his retort, evidently, as she swiftly screeched in reply:

"I HAVE! Now YOU go talk to Alex before **_I_** talk to him myself! And who knows what I'll say…?"

If nothing else, _that_ got Edward moving.

**X**

_May, 1922_

_Dear Al, _

I ran into a pickpocket today. The kid was maybe six years old, and when I chased him down (you bet I chased him down), I saw that he was taking care of two younger siblings—a sister and a brother, both barely older than four. They were starving and ragged and frightened, living in an ally behind the butcher's shop.

_I let them keep the money. I gave them an earful, but I let them keep it. I gave them my address, too, for if they needed anything else. _

And after I left, I thought of us. I thought of us after Mom died—when we believed we had nothing left to lose. We were foolish, yes. And we were reckless. And though I know it was completely our fault for what happened afterwards, a part of me had always blamed alchemy. I used to wonder how great things would have been without it—living a quiet life together, whole, without the military or the Stone or blood seals or any of that.

_But it just occurred to me today, watching those kids… maybe we were lucky. _

I mean, I'm not saying that what happened to us was good—it was horrible. It was Hell. But what if we'd never learned alchemy? What if we'd never met Teacher? What if we'd tried to live by ourselves, like those kids? What if, like them, we'd failed?

Though we faced death in many other ways—ways that we, in a sense, **chose**—, we never had to worry about money or starving or anything like that. Not like those orphans have to. And we had a purpose; a goal. Friends to help us. They're all alone, simply living because they're too afraid to die.

Perhaps I've been looking at things the wrong way. Perhaps everything happens for a reason; or at least has a little good behind it.

_  
Maybe there's some good in my being stuck here, too? _

—Ed

**X  
**

However, in the end, Edward won.

Sort of.

Just like, in the end, Rosie won.

Sort of.

As it turned out, Alexander had fallen asleep on the couch, curled up around Alchemy, and was looking so peaceful that neither had the heart to wake him—even if it meant sacrificing an argument, in Rosalie's case. Which was how Ed won: he didn't have to talk to Alex, as his sister had demanded. This was definitely a stroke of luck, as he still had no idea as to what he wanted to say, but at the same time, he had to wonder:

How on Earth had Alex managed to sleep through his and Rosie's very noisy fight?

…As it turned out, he hadn't.

Which was how Rosie won.

Of course, this didn't become apparent until much later—after the moon had risen to its distant peak, glowing brightly through the window; sharp rays cutting into the cool fall night. It was beautiful, like a shining bubble in a calm black sea: its playful beams bouncing and ricocheting off of the pale yellow walls of Edward and Alexander's bedroom. The evanescent shimmer illuminated each shadowed corner, pooling in silvery puddles on the carpet.

Alexander watched the celestial orb with subdued eyes, heavy eyelids flickering. But though his expression was languid, his mind was alive; frantic and crackling—shooting thoughts though his veins like little electrical currents. He gazed silently into space, running through the afternoons events over and over in his mind… sitting on the couch, Alchemy in his lap, gaping in horror as Edward and Rosalie's hushed argument grew louder and louder, floating up to him. Words he couldn't believe… '_Did they know I was listening? Did they forget I was here? Were they trying to play a trick on me?'_

Edward's muffled words—the first he'd clearly heard— echoed endlessly in his ears: **_I just… I mean… it was cruel, almost. As if he might clear one of the steps between us… but still…_**

What was Ed talking about? Did it have something to do with what he, Alex, had said that night—? Did… did Edward know what he sometimes found himself thinking about, when he couldn't stop himself…?

'_No, he couldn't possibly!_' Alex hastily assured himself, pinking. His fingers tightened into fists beneath the bedspread, firmly closing his eyes. '_And stop thinking that, yourself! You're just being dumb! Now, go to sl—'_

"Al. . .?"

Alexander froze, stomach dropping as he yelped, head whipping to the right—to find Edward leaning over the side of his bed, upside down; hair nearly long enough to brush Alex's mattress. He was frowning sleepily, eyebrow arched.

"Al?" he repeated, watching groggily as Alexander began to breathe again, his grip on his blankets loosening. "What're you doing, still up? It's nearly one. We've got school tomorrow."

Alex supposed this would be a good time to answer, (or at least _speak_,) but strangely, he found that he couldn't— he was too busy watching Ed's lengthy locks shimmer in the moonlight, a dark straw color in the dimness. And though he was sure his cheeks were flaming, he couldn't help but continue to stare, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

_**Well, he'd be so much closer to me, but all the farther away…**_

"Brother…" the brunette suddenly heard himself murmur, pushing stray strands of copper-colored hair behind his ears, sinking deeper into his pillows, "Ed, can I… ask you something?"

Edward blinked—then, apparently unable to keep himself from toppling over any longer, pulled himself securely back up to the top bunk. Regardless, he responded with an easy (if not drowsy): "Sure. What's up, brother-mine? It must be somethin' big, to keep you up so late."

Alex smiled slightly, despite himself. But his voice, when he spoke, shook just the same. "What… did I say?" he asked softly, curling around Bunny, his stuffed kangaroo. The doll's worn-out button eyes shone like dull pennies; the worn cloth of its body smelt faintly of Downy and cigarette smoke. He tried to ignore his embarrassment and the crushing quiet—concentrating on the familiar scent instead. "What did I say when I was high on Nyquil? What did I say that made you so… you know, with Rosie. Did I… say something wrong?"

He squeaked out the final inquisition, too nervous to look anywhere but out the window. Not that it mattered—Edward hadn't moved either; he was probably just staring at the ceiling, looking horrified. Though if he was, he sure didn't sound it. He only sounded… subdued. Careful. "… you didn't say anything wrong," Ed assured quietly, the springs of his bed creaking as he shifted to the left. "You just told me that you thought you might be gay."

Alex's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, eyes widening. He suddenly felt like he was going to puke again… "I did…?" he choked, torn between feeling terrified and—somewhere, deep inside—relieved. That he'd finally said it, whether or not he chose to believe it was true. "Would that gross you out, if I were. . . ?"

Edward chuckled, rolling over completely. "'Gross me out'. . . ? C'mon. I am many things, Al," he sighed into his pillows, sounding somewhat amused, "but I am not a hypocrite. Of course I wouldn't be grossed out if you were gay. In case you've forgotten, _I'm_ gay, too."

That was true. That was very true. But— Alex blinked. '_Wait a minute…'_ "I'd be so much closer, but all the farther away," he said under his breath, brow wrinkling in thought.

From above him, his brother seemed to stiffen, sitting up. "Excuse me?" he inquired, a little faster than necessary. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing," Alexander replied just as quickly, turning scarlet. '_Way to blow your cover, Alex!_' "I just… I heard you say to Rosie…" The brunette swallowed loudly; Edward was being unusually quiet. "Brother…" he tried again, softer this time. Why did he feel like crying? He didn't want to cry—he wasn't sad, or anything. And yet… "Brother, I'm confused!" Alex snuffled, cursing himself profusely as the tears began to well. '_Why am I so **pathetic**?'_ "I don't understand what I feel, I don't understand how I think, and I certainly don't understand what I want!" He made an angry noise in the back of his throat, trying to quell the burning sensation that was working its way upward. "_I just don't understand!_"

Silence. Silence except for Alexander's heavy breathing: an attempt to counter his stinging tear ducts. It didn't help. Thus, facing imminent irritation, Alex briefly wondered if Ed had fallen asleep; it'd been a full minute and he hadn't yet responded.

But then—rather abruptly— the elder boy sighed… and his hand drifting over the edge of the top bunk, dangling a few inches above Al's head. "We rarely ever do," he assured quietly, in that low, velvety voice Alex loved so much. "But you've got to keep trying, anyway. You've got to do what you think is right; what you think is best for you; no matter how selfish it may sound. After all, before you live with anyone else, you've got to live with yourself and the choices you make—and the consequences they bring."

". . ." Sniffing lightly, Alexander nodded, grabbing Ed's hand and lacing their fingers together. His brother's hand was warm and large, probably speckled with ink and paint… and was surprisingly strong, beneath the softness.

It felt like heaven.

Alex smiled.

"Brother…?"

"Mmm?"

"Have you ever had to follow your own advice?"

But this time, Edward didn't respond—he was fast asleep.

**X**

_August, 1922 _

Dear Al,

_Heiderich and I went driving today; the weather was beautiful and we'd finished most of our work. Heiderich's plans are really coming together … at this rate, we'll have a rocket ready to launch at the local carnival next year. Heiderich says he can't wait to take me there, he's sure I'll really enjoy myself. I told him that I'd been to fairs before and that they were never anything exciting, but he just laughed and assured me that that was because I'd never been on a Ferris wheel. I had to admit, he was right— I'd never even heard of them. So I let him tell me about Ferris wheels until he fell asleep under a maple tree. He seemed happy; I was glad. _

…_I've been sort of worried about him, Al. He still has coughing fits, once in a while, though he hasn't had a cold since last year. And he looks at me strangely, sometimes. As if he's not really seeing me… or as if he's trying to find someone else in me. I caught him attempting to hold my hand last week. And I almost let him, without thinking. Or, rather, thinking he was you. I don't know **why** I thought that; you two really don't look anything alike. But sometimes… I don't know. I lose myself, I guess. Like the time I first met him. God, I was so stupid… I really thought I'd found you. _

And I just have to say that it's truly a miracle he didn't have me institutionalized that very moment. **I** would have seen to it personally, had a complete stranger raced up and hugged me, sobbing and ranting in some foreign language.

_But he didn't. He looked shocked, of course, but only for a moment. Then—for some reason unknown to me; whether it be my resemblance to Cullison or Heiderich's own natural kindness— he chose to hug me back, pick up his spilt groceries, and take me home. _

_It makes me think, sometimes, that he wants something else from me. What, I'm not sure… but something else that I can't give._

_I hope that I'm wrong. For his sake, for my sake, and for yours, Al. _

—_Ed_

**XXX**

_  
Yea! We're getting close to some scenes I know you're ALL going to like. X3 _

Anyway, fanfiction-dot-net people, I gotta say—you guys are missing out. Come visit the Elricest live journal site! There's a plethora of Skeletons stuff posted there! Two smut bonus chapters (for all you people who need your lemon fix), and THREE **beautiful** fanarts from **incredibly** talented readers! Please go check it out—you definitely won't be disappointed:D

See ya later! (hugs)


	5. Letter Five

_Disclaimer: Me with ownership of FMA… that's a scary thought. X3 (But I do own my OC-babies! huggles them) _

Author's Note: I am still completely speechless. THANK YOU, everyone, for your support! I love you guys—and I'm so thankful!

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter… I'm pretty sure you will.

(PS. 'RAY' stands for Rainbow Alliance of Youth. It's a group that fights for equality and tries to put a stop to prejudice based on race, religion, sexual orientation, etc. is a proud member XD)

**XXX **

X

X

X

My arm hurt like hell the next morning. To be honest, I couldn't even move it—not for the rest of the day.

But it had been worth it… for just that little spark of hope.

**X **

X

X

**XXX **

Skeletons

XXX

"What do you think?"

Rosalie looked abruptly up from the deck she was shuffling, quirking an eyebrow at her brother. As if on cue, a flash of lightening illuminated the room. It was Wednesday, it was storming, and Alex was currently sitting across from her, lounging on her bedroom floor, resting his chin in the palms of his hands. It was strange for Rosie to be home on a weekday (as she belonged to so many school clubs), and the two had decided to seize the chance a canceled RAY meeting had provided: an opportunity to catch up on their card playing—the one guilty pleasure they both shared. Between them lay a bowl of cheese popcorn and a stack of poker chips, both waiting to be won.

Alexander watched her expression flatten, wrapping his quilt more tightly around him; coughing once. Then she blinked.

"… you'll have to be a _little_ more specific then that," Rosalie finally snorted, dealing them each a hand of cards, chuckling as her bangles jingled, "or else we'll be here all night." Grinning at her own joke, she flipped up her cards and organized them. Alex did the same. "What do I think about what?"

"…" The brunette didn't respond for a moment, choosing instead to finger his five of clubs. This was it… Rosie lifted a can of juice to her lips, taking a sip— "Do you think I'm gay?"

Before promptly choking.

Al watched, torn between laughter and irritation, as Rosalie pounded on her own chest, trying to breathe again. "EXCUSE me?" she then hacked, straightening with an air of… well, he couldn't really tell what. It seemed to be a mixture of shock and delight and exasperation. In any case, her eyes were glittering in that 'knowing' way—the 'way' that everyone dreaded. "Did you just ask me if I think you're _gay_?"

Now she simply sounded elated.

Alex's expression turned sour, tugging distractedly on a frayed end of his blanket. "Look, you don't have to make a big deal about it," he groused quietly, trying to hide his face with his bangs as his cheeks heated up. "I'm not even sure, okay? That's why I'm asking y—"

But Rosie wasn't listening; she wasn't even paying attention to her cards anymore. (Alexander noticed with distaste that she'd somehow managed to deal herself a flush.) "You think you might be gay?" she squealed, though her face screamed: _So you've finally come out of the closet, big brother?_ "That's awesome!"

''_**Awesome**'—?_' "I SAID," the brunette repeated with a flare of impatience, "that I—I don't know, Rosie! That's why I'm asking you!"

"…" The amusement on her face grew, but for a different reason. "…So it's up to me?" she asked with a snort, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. "If I tell you that you're gay, you'll believe me and start trying to 'get some' from guys?"

Alexander colored more drastically than ever, shaking his head no. "That's not what I meant…" he murmured, pressing his cards, face down, into the carpet. He watched the waxy backs fold and pop upwards with a hint of forced fascination. "I just… I need someone else's opinion on all of this. I don't know what I think anymore."

Rosie hummed, leaning back on her fist and fanning herself with her cards. Her baggy, button-down shirt bunched around her wrists. "Well," she then vocalized, sounding pensive, "let's start at the beginning. When did all of this come up? Your questioning yourself, I mean."

'_8th grade,_' he thought miserably, but didn't have the heart to say. 8th grade… ever since Zena, his first (and only) girlfriend. Zena Palzack, who'd lasted a week; Zena Palzack, who he'd dated on a dare. It wasn't that he disliked her: they had been good friends, at the time. Both had an interest in animals and history… Nor was it that she'd done anything wrong: she was funny and sweet and cute, with a gentle smile and long brown pigtails that fell to her thighs. But… he just _couldn't_ bring himself to want to do anything with her. He didn't want to hold her hand, he didn't want to carry her books, and he sure as hell didn't want to _kiss_ her.

He'd rather have made out with Alchemy.

But when he'd told Edward they'd broken up… and he saw that adorable little grin Ed had tried his best to hide… _then _he'd felt happy. _Then _he'd felt like, maybe, he might enjoy doing something… something for Edward. So he set the dinner table, even though it was his brother's turn, and even though he'd told Edward off for being an insensitive bastard about Zena.

Alex kneaded his forehead with his fist, trying to erase the memory. "I dunno," he finally grunted—acutely aware of Rosalie's piercing stare. "A few months…?"

She hummed again; though she didn't sound like she believed him; and tapped her cheek with a manicured forefinger. The tip sparkled with navy-colored glitter. "Is there anyone in particular that these feelings are for? 'Cause ya might be bi if you still think girls are hot but are crushing on some guy." She grinned toothily, winking. The chain she wore around her hips clattered as she crossed her legs Indian style. "That's how I knew, you know—I thought Todd Multare was sexy, but it was Amy that I wanted to date."

The brunette cast his little sister a vague glance before rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "How'd that happen, anyway?" he inquired, a little more curiously than he wished. "You and Amy going out… you'd known each other since, what, Girl Scouts? When did Amy tell you she was a lesbian?"

"She didn't need to _tell_ me," Rosie scoffed, sounding exasperated. (Alex rolled his eyes at her tone.) "It was obvious from the way that she acted… at least, obvious to me. 'Cause she was always blushing when we were together. You know how I'd spend the night at her place a lot in 7th grade? Well, this one time, we were changing into our PJs and I caught her staring. She was trying hard not to, but I could tell that she was fascinated. Her fingers were twitching and everything. I had thought that she was cute since 6th grade, and had noticed all the sweet little things she did for me— like look up hard-to-find computer parts. And I wanted to see if she was _really_ into me, like I was into her… so I told her that my bra was stuck and I needed someone to help me unfasten it. She didn't want to help, of course, but I coaxed her over… and then, when she reached out, I grabbed her and—"

The blonde cut herself off suddenly, noticing the look of horrified shock on her brother's face.

She cleared her throat.

"ANYWAY," Rosie smiled, pinking a bit, "let's just say that things were pretty clear after that." Her grin slipped a little, becoming a glower. "…Don't look at me like that. All we did was make out. No sex before marriage, scouts honor." She held up her fingers like the Girl Scout she'd tried (but failed) to be.

Alex wondered if it was possible to poke out your mind's eye.

"But this isn't about me," Rosalie quickly chirped, tossing her cards to the side. "This is about you. Who is it you've got a crush on?" She smirked, periwinkle pools shimmering with excitement. "Is it someone I know?"

'_Only too well,_' he mentally admitted—but out loud he said nothing.

Classic behavior… Rosie took his silence for a 'yes.' The fact that he was blushing up a storm didn't hurt her decision, either. "In that case," she cooed, clearly enjoying herself, "your best bet is to see if that person feels the same way for you. If he does, then pursue it!"

Her excited rambling quickly quieted, however, upon noticing the still-raw uncertainty on Alexander's face. She sighed.

"Alex… if there's one thing I believe in, it's that love is love. Gender has nothing to do with it. I hate how people try to box us; how they try to label us as 'straight' or 'gay' or even 'bi.' And then they try to tell us that some of those boxes are wrong… God wouldn't give us these feelings if he didn't want us to have them; not everything is about resisting temptation. If you really like this guy as much as you seem to—and believe me, it seems like you like him _a lot_"— she chuckled; he glanced away, covering his face with his hands— "then GO for it. What have you got to lose?"

'_A brother…?_' But for the third time, he didn't echo his thoughts: he simply nodded. "I guess… I'll think about it."

"Just don't _over_ think it," Rosie warned, picking up her cards again. "That can sometimes make things worse. Emotions are powerful… you should follow them, when you can. They're helpful."

Alex couldn't help but smile. "This coming from the girl loses her temper every other day. Speaking of which—don't you have detention tomorrow?"

"Shut up and discard."

**X**

_November, 1922 _

Dear Al,

_I'm used to dreaming of you, I do so almost every night. But for some reason, the dreams are getting clearer, now—fewer fuzzy memories and more "flashes." "Flashes" like photographs; still lives that let me know you're okay. Countless pictures, flipping past as if on a reel of film: you practicing with Teacher, playing with stray kittens, helping Winry with chores, walking through foreign deserts, growing out your hair... _

_But in all of these pictures, you're looking far away. Searching with your eyes. _

It's like you're trying to find me, even in my dreams. And when I realize that, even though I'm unconscious, I'll call out for you… then wake up.

_  
Do you hear that? When I call your name… Heiderich does, and usually comes running. It's always embarrassing to explain that I was only having a dream. _

_Still… it would be worth it if—just once— the sound reached you, and let you know that I'm here. _

—_Ed_

**X**

Alex had been taking piano lessons since he was four. He'd never had a particular love for the instrument, nor a natural talent, but his mother had once seen him excitingly pounding the keys of the ancient baby grand Gramdpa Elric used to keep (until he'd moved into an apartment, anyway), and had immediately signed him up for lessons.

She had yet to relent and let him quit.

But that was okay. He got certain privileges out of it—such as first dibs on desert on recital nights— plus it gave him something to do on Thursday afternoons from 4:30 till 5:30. That, and he had to admit… there was something calming about playing, or even just tinkering on the old piano in the living room. It was peaceful: just him and the notes—the one thing in his life that he could control. Recently, he needed that power and catharsis more and more frequently…

And he blamed it on moments like this.

Alexander sighed heavily, pressing his forehead to the window, watching the scenery fly past. Trees and fields and rolling hills… the city wasn't too far away, but it was hard to tell from here. It was nice.

He squinted a bit, pulling his eyes back—gazing as the dim reflection of Edward in the driver's seat. His brother was staring straight ahead, lips pursed, dressed in a paint-incrusted set of sweat pants and a t-shirt. The blonde shook his head slightly, brushing a few locks of hair from his eyes; the stands that refused to stay in a ponytail. He looked mildly annoyed, muttering something under his breath. Alex couldn't blame him—mom was supposed to have driven him to lessons today. Not that driving Alex was that big of a deal, but Ed had been pretty engrossed in whatever project he was working on. And Edward did not like being interrupted.

At least… that was what Alexander had chosen to pin the silence on. Not the heavy blanket of tension between them.

The brunette swallowed silently, wishing he could say something. But since that night… that night they'd held hands… he couldn't. What could he say? For that matter, what was Ed _waiting_ for him to say? It must have been something… because the one time their gazes locked, there had certainly been a question behind those golden eyes. Alex dreaded to discover what it was. Probably because he already knew… or, at least, had a very fair idea.

His fingers tightened around his folder of music. Why did moments like this always make him want to puke? "Ed…"

The elder of the two stiffened slightly, casting his younger sibling a sideways glance. He seemed surprised by the sudden invite to start a conversation. "Yeah?"

"What is it that you want from me?" he asked quietly, propping his chin in his hands and staring out the window. His nails drummed nervously against his flesh. "I know there's something… you've been really quiet for a while."

He noticed with some wonder the faint pink flush that crawled up Edward's neck and stained his ears; then cursed mutely when he realized how poorly he'd phrased his question. '_Way to look desperate!_' he chastised himself, wishing he could slam his head repeatedly into the windshield. But that might look a little excessive. And suspicious.

But thankfully, Ed continued without mentioning Al's horrible choice of words. "I don't want anything from you," he assured calmly, successfully able to quell his embarrassment. (Alex wished he was so skilled.) "I've just been wondering if you've given any thought to your own feelings on… you know. The matter we discussed a few nights ago."

On some level, it amused Alexander that Edward seemed unable to say the word 'gay' and 'Al' in the same sentence. But at the same time, it sort of annoyed him. Like Ed didn't really believe that he might be.

'_Why do I want to **prove** it to him?'_

He really was losing his mind.

Edward glanced his way again; the car pulled through a yellow light. Alex sighed, closing his eyes, hugging his music to his chest as his forehead reacquainted itself with the window. And then, before he'd even realized he was speaking, he heard himself announce:

"…I _did_ think about it. And I realized that I've never liked any girls."

The blonde blinked rapidly in the driver's seat, then snorted and smiled gently. "That doesn't mean anything," he assured, completing a right turn with ease. Alex wished for the umpteenth time that he had his own license, rather than just his temps. Then he wouldn't have to have embarrassing conversations with his brother in the car… "Maybe you just haven't found the right girl yet. You don't need to worry."

But the younger boy shook his head—and as he did so, the rest of his body began to shake, as well. "No," he muttered, gulping hard. His nerves were a shambled wreck of nervous electricity… "No, I really think… I'm pretty sure I'm probably gay."

Edward didn't respond. His lips had slipped down into a light frown: not angry, but not happy, either. More preoccupied than anything else. Then he sighed, brushing his ponytail over his shoulder—before allowing that that hand to land lightly upon Alexander's. The trembling slowed, but Alexander's heart sped up. "…Can I ask you something, Al?"

Alex nodded, not trusting himself to speak. If he did, he might say something he regretted…

"Why does it scare you so much?" Ed questioned delicately, keeping his eyes on the road but his hand on top of Al's. "Being gay, that is. I mean, Rosie and I aren't as straight as swizzle sticks, but that's never fazed you. Why are you afraid of the possibility of being gay, too?"

And there it was. THE question. He'd known it was coming, but now that it was here… Al let the words ring through the silence, hoping they would fade. He gulped, wetting his lips three times in a row; but no matter how much he stalled, the deafening quiet hammered on, completely merciless.

He decided that anything was better than just sitting here, flustered.

"It's not…" Alexander began hesitantly, trying to ignore the pleasant, tingling heat that was radiating from Ed's fingers, "it's not being _gay_ that I'm afraid of… it's what I'd have to admit, if I were."

Edward's brow crinkled, clearly confused. "What do you mean?"

_What do you mean_… that was a good question. Alex squeezed his eyes shut, terrified—but he had nothing to tell but the truth. Or, at least, part of the truth. "If I were gay," he clarified softly, shifting subtly towards the door, "it would mean that… these feelings I have for—for this guy I know… it would mean that they're not as… um, well, _platonic_ as I'd tried to pretend they were. And that might ruin things with him, because there's no way he could possibly feel the same way for me, due to…circumstance. And so I'm afraid that, if I _were_ gay… I'd have to finally admit to myself that I'm in love with him."

Ed said nothing—but his eyes had hardened strangely, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. Alex could hear the rubber grips chafing in Edward's strong hand; '_Did I say something wrong again? Or… or did he figure it out—!_' But the blonde's voice, when he spoke, was nonchalant. Dangerously nonchalant. "So…

Who is it?"

Alexander didn't answer.

"Al?" the older teen repeated in a tone of forced calm. It made Alexander want to throw up more than ever… "Can you tell me who it is? Maybe I can help you."

But thankfully, the car pulled into his piano teacher's house at that moment— and he could see Mrs. Carter waiting in the window, scowling; black eyes glittering as she tapped her watch. She spun away, dreadlocks fluttering in the wake of her movements.

He needed no other excuse to bolt.

"Al!"

Alex ran and he didn't look back.

**X**

_March, 1923 _

Dear Al,

_I wonder how far away the sky is? It looks like miles… do you think a rocket will actually manage to touch it?_

_How else will I be able to find you, if for some reason it can't? _

—_Ed_

**X**

Needless to say, the ride home that afternoon had been tense. Neither had said a word: Edward waiting for Alex's response; Alex hoping Edward would forget. He had come _so close _to saying something he shouldn't…! He didn't want to chance saying anything else. And so the silence remained. Not only in the car, but in the house— lingering for the rest of the evening, proceeding into the next morning, continuing during school, and caring on into Friday night.

It was hell.

Alex sat gloomily at the kitchen table, watching the digital clock tick onward. 11:34 PM… 12:06 AM… 1:57 AM… the hours dragged past. But still, he didn't move from where he'd sat down to do homework at 7 that night. Heck, he didn't even move to _do _that homework—his eyes on the clock and his chin in his right palm, his left hand clutched a mechanical pencil like a dagger, resting on top of an open book and note pad. Yes, he had forgotten his homework ages ago.

'_What am I going to do now?'_ he thought desperately, and not for the first time that evening. '_Ed already hates me, and I haven't even told him that I— argh, no, stop that Alexander! Even if you ARE gay, you cannot be in love with your brother. He's your BROTHER!_'

His fingernails dug into his chin; he bit his bottom lip.

The back door creaked softly open.

And thought Alexander certainly wasn't surprised, Rosalie was—nearly jumping a mile when she saw her older brother sitting at the table, watching her quiet attempts to sneak in with dull eyes. "Crud—!" she hissed, clutching her shirt where her heart would be, spinning away with a deep breath. "Geez, Alex!" Rosie yelped in a whisper, attempting to regain her composure. "Trying to give me a heart attack?"

"No," Alex drawled, still not moving an inch. "But if you'd come home on time…"

"I _was_ home on time," the girl retorted coolly. "I was on the front porch with Amy. You can ask her."

The brunette cast his sister a dry look. "…on the front porch. Since eleven?"

Rosalie grinned broadly, wiping a lipstick smudge off of her cheek. "We did a lot of talking."

"I'm sure."

"Hey, we did," she protested—though still smiling impishly; pulling up a chair and straddling it, resting her arms on the back. "Communication is key in a relationship, you know. But… we also spent a little time making out." She waggled her eyebrows in a way Alex never wanted to see again. His face fell flat against his open Calculus book.

The girl blinked blankly as he groaned into the pages. "What's wrong?"

Alex didn't reply.

"Alex…" Rosie said warningly, brow furrowing as she began to toy with her fingerless gloves. The chinking of the decorative metal rings upon them made Alexander look up with a hidden grin. '_Ed once called them bell-gloves… and told Rosie she sounded like an oncoming cow._'

But he quickly swallowed his amusement with another anguished moan. '_Dammit!_' he mentally snarled, pounding his temples with his fists._ 'Edward, get out of my head!_'

"Wooooah!" Rosalie jumped up, sounding shocked, and grabbed her brother's wrists. He glared up at her angrily, annoyed by her interference, but she refused to loosen her grasp—even when he tugged. "What the hell, Alex?" she gaped instead, kohl-rimmed eyes wide. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

"That's what **_I_** want to know!" he snapped, nearly screaming with fury when he felt the corners of his eyes begin to sting. _'NO! No, dammit, I am NOT going to cry!_'

Of course, the tears started pouring anyway… His sister gaped at him, open mouthed.

"Alex…?"

"_What's **wrong** with me_?" he choked, frustrated and furious all at once. No longer struggling against Rosie's grasp, he let his fingers loosen limply; eyes locked on his math problems, which swam strangely before him. "There MUST be something—! I almost… I almost told Edward...!" The brunette sniffled, clearly horrified.

Rosalie, torn between concern and curiosity, released her hold on her brother, lifting his chin instead. "Told Ed what?" she inquired in a soothing voice, the very picture of worry. "What did you almost tell Ed? That you're gay…?"

Alexander shook his head, trembling furiously. "No…" he rasped, toying with his pencil. His voice softened, growing quieter and quieter… "No, I… I almost told him that… that I think I'm…

That I think I'm in love with him."

"…" Rosie gawked.

"But I _can't_ be in love with him!" Alex cried, momentarily forgetting to keep his voice down. He shook his head feverishly back and forth in a fruitless attempt to keep from choking on bile. "I can't! He… he's my _brother_…"

"Alex…"

"_What's wrong with me_?" the boy repeated, beyond distressed. His fingers laced themselves in his long, loose hair, tugging in aggravation. "I _can't_ be in love with my older brother, that's just…!"

"Alex—!"

"I mean, its incest! And— and I…"

"_Alex_!" Rosalie barked, slamming a fist against the table. Alexander jumped at the thunderous sound, looking up in surprise at his irritated sister—

Only to be met by her mouth.

"!"

She was kissing him. She was _kissing_ him! Not just an innocent sibling kiss, either: she was kissing him in the way she might kiss Amy. Long, intense, passionate… He could feel her press closer, running the tip of her tongue against his bottom lip, forcing her way inside—

Alex yanked himself away with a stifled shout, staggering to his feet with a wave of his hands. His face was as white as a sheet. "Rosalie—!" he squeaked, gripping the kitchen counter to keep steady. "What the f—?"

Rosie gazed vacantly at him, unfazed by… well, all of this. "How did that make you feel?"

'_Violated?_' "Disgusted!" Alexander all but sobbed, hands itching to slap his sister in a way he hadn't since he was 6. "Why did you—!"

But Rosalie just beamed. It seemed strangely out of place, somehow. "There, now, you see? Nothing's wrong with you at all!"

". . ." The brunette stared. He could really do nothing else. He had just been Frenched by his little sister… and now she was almost _posing_. '_Did she just… **sing** that retort?_'

Noticing his lack of intelligent response—or, hell, any response at all— Rosie scowled. "Does this mean I have to spell things out for you _again_?" she quipped monotonously, flopping back down on her chair. "Damn, Alex… all right. We're related, aren't we?" He nodded. "You're related to Edward, too, yes?" He nodded once more. "But even though you want _his_ hands down your pants, you want nothing to do with me, right?" This time, Alex didn't do anything, too distracted by the idea of Ed's hands down his pants. But Rosalie continued just the same. "Therefore, you're **not** into the idea of incest. And _nothing_ is wrong with you. Though, to be honest, I really wouldn't have thought anything was wrong with you, anyway… you've heard of the ancient Egyptians, right?"

Alexander made a mental note to stop letting Edward and Rosalie hang out in the basement. Clearly, they were comparing notes, or something.

"But Rosie," he protested weakly, easing himself into his own chair once again, "you're a girl. And I'm ga…"

Her fist reconnected with the table. He jumped this time, too. "Dammit, Alex!" she snapped, glaring icily at her brother. "_That's not the point_! Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe—JUST FREAKIN' MAYBE—you like Ed for _who he is_? Has it ever even crossed your mind that you're in love with him NOT because he's your brother, but because he's a good, sweet, smart, thoughtful person? Will you EVER stop thinking of your own problems long enough to see that he's WORRIED about you? _For God's sakes, Alexander!_ Grow a spine and go tell him how you feel!"

"But Rosie—!" he whimpered fearfully, cheeks a blazing maroon. "I—!"

She pointed threateningly at the kitchen door.

"**_GO._**"

He did; scampering off in a strange state of fear and thankfulness. Though he still wasn't planning on telling Edward anything… Rosie's words kept ringing in his head. _'Could I… really just love him? Would that be okay?' _Nobody answered him, of course. But nobody needed to.

In the kitchen, Rosie watched him go—clearly exasperated. "What _is_ it with men?" she sighed, running her hands through her hair. "Blegh."

With that, she stood to go wash her mouth out with Listerine. Many, many times.

**X**

_July, 1923 _

Dear Al,

_Heiderich's carnival is only two months away—he's so excited, it's kind of funny. This morning, for example, while telling me about a new engine they want to try on the exhibit rocket, he accidentally poured coffee into his fruit bowl. Then he blushed like a strawberry and tried to hide it with the paper. I don't think I laughed so hard in ages. But then I got him some more fruit to make up for my snickers. _

_It's kind of strange, but I'm excited for the carnival, too. It will be fun to travel a little, again; and I have a peculiar feeling… like something is going to happen, soon. Maybe at the fair? Maybe the rocket will be a success, and Heiderich and I can start building one which will reunite us, Al. _

_  
I hope so.  
_

_In any case, I need to go to work. And I need to go grocery shopping. (I already warned Heiderich that I won't touch any milk. He was pretty mad when I refused to buy any last time. So now he buys milk when he's out, and I buy the rest of it.) _

_I'll write more later, all right? _

—_Ed_

**X**

When Alex got to his room, it was quiet. Quiet and dark—even the stars were gone, hidden by a shadowy swirl of lingering clouds. He closed the door behind him with a muted squeak.

Nothing. No grumbles, no snuffles, no yawns, no snores.

That was the first sign. Edward was awake.

Alexander mentally sighed, feeling his expression fall into a heavy frown. He hated this silent treatment… and it was unnerving that it was apparently going to continue, even through the night. But it wasn't like he could explain himself to his brother—that would involve admitting those feelings Rosie had been so enthusiastic about exploiting. Or trying to exploit, anyway…

He blew out his cheeks and crawled into bed, reaching over to grab his grandfather's diary and his itty-bitty reading light from the nightstand. Even if _he _couldn't do anything to his brother, he could always read about Grandpa Elric's incestuous relationship and quietly cheer him on. That might make him feel better. Jealous, maybe. But better.

Perhaps.

It would at least do well in distracting him, if nothing else.

But when he silently unsnapped the lock and found his bookmark, it wasn't his grandfather's handwriting that filled the page. It was Edward's: a neat, black scrawl on a pale sheet of sketchbook paper, jammed into the binding of the diary. The words seemed to glisten in the mini lamp's soft yellow glow… and Alex, unsure of what else to do, read them silently; knuckles whitening on the covers on the book.

**X**

_October, 2015_

_Dear Al, _

_I don't know why I'm writing this—honestly, I don't. But it was the only way I could think of talking to you, right now. Through Grandpa's little diary. _

_  
Stupid, huh? _

I dunno… I guess it's just easier to write things like this down, rather than say them. I know that if I tried to say them, after all, the words would come out all jumbled and dumb and I'd only make things worse. At least, when I'm writing, I can try to compose something intelligible.

So here I go.

I'm sorry, Alex. I'm sorry if all of my questions frightened you, or if I seemed pushy. I didn't mean to pressure you into telling me things that you're not ready to admit—I'm just concerned. You've been subdued and anxious for so long; I worry about you. Which is embarrassing to admit, I have to say. I mean, the last thing you need is someone else hovering over you, trying to pull you in directions you don't want to go, attempting to wheedle secrets out of you.

_But I **really** want to know, Al. I really want to be there for you. _

And so, in exchange for your secrets—because we both know things need to be fair—I'll tell you mine.

_I love you, Alexander. _

_And not just in the way brothers are supposed to love each other. I know it's weird, and, again, I'm sorry—I really, really am. I don't know when it happened, how, or why… I just know that I do. I really, really do. _

_I apologize, Al, if this is too much. I swear to God I'll never mention this again if it scares you, and I won't blame you if you hate me. But please, Al, talk to me—I want to help you with whatever you're going through. I want to see you smile again. _

I just want you to be happy. Can you do that much for me?

Please?

—_Ed _

**X**

The diary slipped from his hands.

The diary slipped from his hands and fell upon his bed, bouncing once, before toppling to the floor—landing with a muffled thump upon the carpet. Alex watched its journey with wide eyes: wide eyes full of bubbling, boiling tears… tears the ran down his cheeks like rivers, leaving scalding red welts in their wake.

He gasped, he snuffled; his hands darted up in a vain attempt to stem the flow of water—but it was no use. The tears just kept pouring… and his sniffling slowly grew louder, no matter how he attempted to muffle the sound.

And then Edward was there—crouching beside his bed, positively terrified. Alex had been right, he'd been awake the whole time… and he was **frightened**. For the first time Alexander could remember, his older brother was _frightened_— trying to comfort Alex without touching him.

"Brother…" the brunette blubbered, voice barely above a whisper—fingers gripping at his cheeks and mouth. He was probably bruising his own face… "Is… is it _true_…?"

Ed flushed, looking disgusted with himself. And still, still so petrified... "I'm _sorry_, Al," he choked, brow knitted with worry as he timidly raised a hand, touching Alex's cheek. Yet he pulled quickly back, as if the tears had scalded him. "I'm so, _so_ _sorry_… I didn't… I didn't _mean_ to…"

But rather than scowl or scream or shove him away, Alex did something surprising— he grabbed that drifting hand, brought it to his cheek, and held it there. Tightly.

Edward gaped, stunned… watching as his baby brother closed his eyes, burying his face in the warmth of the other's palm; whispering words Ed had been sure he'd never hear.

"I… I love you, too…"

Neither could breathe. Alexander's black lashes slowly drifted open, still heavy with moisture; lips pursed and thin as his body trembled horribly. Their eyes hesitantly met, both still afraid that the other was joking.

Then, timorously, Ed moved: slowly but surly easing himself onto Alex's mattress, sitting beside him. Reaching out with his free hand, he looped his arm around Alexander—pressing against the small of his back. Alex gasped, shivering all the harder when Edward drew him closer. Their chests met, their arms touched, their noses were mere inches apart…

"Don't be scared," he murmured, golden eyes glowing through the darkness. His free hand moved in little calming circles, trying to quell his sibling's tremors. But Alex simply shook his head, timidly wrapping his own arms around Edward's neck.

"That's the scary thing…" he admitted softly, pulling all the closer. He could feel Ed's breath from here, released in shy little gusts. "…I'm not."

At first their lips met hesitantly—a light brush that lasted all of a second. But neither moved away, neither tried to protest. Alexander's fingers tightened urgently. And so, encouraged, Edward descended again, welcomed by his brother: lingering, now; deepening, now— desperately trying to taste and touch and take all that they could...

They fell back upon the bed…

**X**

_September, 1923_

_Dear Al, _

…_You're here. _

—Ed

**XXX**

_Woot! Everyone's together! X3 (See, now? Didn't you like that? (I hope…!)) _

Anyway, I should probably explain Zena, who, if you hadn't guessed IS Alter!Nina.

_All right, so, her name. I have some friends who are identical twins, one of whom is blessed with the name Nina. The other, Zena. Ergo, when I think alter!Nina, I think of Nina's twin… who's name, as I said before, happens to be Zena. (They're Finish and very fun. XD ) Sooo…yeah. Hopefully, Zena will show up again for some actual interaction with Alex… that'd be interesting. ;)_

_Anyway, thank you for reading— and really, people! PLEASE come check out the Elricest LJ—and now, Skeleton's **VERY OWN** LJ community! XD_

_  
Please? (begs)_

_See ya later:)_


	6. Letter Six

_Disclaimer: Ummmmm… _

Author's Note: So much to say and so much to do! I'm working really hard on a bunch of Skeletons related projects, now: fanfics, bonuses, other goodies… but you're only gonna get to see them if you join the community.

To be honest, I should probably work on the **story** as much as I do the extras… but I have so much fun doing the extras, I can't help myself. X3

_  
Thanks again for all of your support, guys! You ROCK! huggles _

Please enjoy chapter six!

**(WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS RATED R FOR SEX(UAL SITUATIONS). PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.)**

**XXX **

X

X

X

My eighteenth birthday came and went much like every other: same day, same time, same sort of gifts. Mom gave me a certificate for one of my favorite art store; dad got me a new set of paintbrushes; Alex found a set of unusual watercolors; and Rosie, with a smirk a mile wide, presented me with a bottle of Rosewater lotion. She did this in private, thankfully—as even _I _colored when she added: "Now stop using _mine_!"

All in all, it was an awesome birthday. The cake was good, the presents were nice, and let's just say that the after-bed activities were _better_ than the norm— but something was bothering me. It had bothered me throughout the entire day, vanished for a while, then empathically reappeared when Alex curled up beside me and fell asleep.

My dad.

He'd been… staring at me, lately. In an odd way. And not when I'd been doing anything odd to deserve that sort of glare. I mean, if he saw me riding a unicycle while singing the national anthem with a pair of boxers on my head, then I'd expect to get stared at strangely. But no—he'd be gazing at me as if I'd sprouted extra ears while I was doing something as innocent as sketching an apple for art class, humming along to my CD player. It's… unnerving, to say the least.

Whenever I notice him doing this, I quirk an eyebrow at him questioningly.

In response, he shakes his head—as if trying to clear it—and walks away.

**X **

X

X

**XXX **

Skeletons

XXX

Rosalie flatly announced that they were the most disgustingly happy couple she had ever seen.

Which, to be perfectly honest, was rather insulting… for all of those other couples, anyway. Because Edward and Alex, while they _were_ disgustingly happy, prided themselves on how well they managed to hide it.

Generally.

Sure, there had been a few instances they'd rather not discuss—a few 'close encounters with the parental kind' that they'd prefer to forget—but for the most part they felt they were suitably sneaky about their taboo trysts. And they _were_ taboo…

Alex felt his cheeks burn as his mind drifted, pulling a comb through his hair. He'd never, not even in his wildest, craziest, most erotic dreams, expected something like this to happen. Not to him, anyway. Not ever. Heck, if someone had told him two weeks ago that he'd be spending a majority of his time making out with his brother in almost any place conceivable—the bedroom, the restroom, the basement, the garage—he would have probably run screaming. But now… well, it was almost second nature. The moment their parents weren't looking, they were gone—trying to see how far they could get before someone noticed the strange noises coming from the closet.

It was exhilarating; it was exciting… Though whether or not that excitement was a _bad_ thing remained to be seen.

Alexander felt his lips tug upwards in a miniature smile; saw the little grin reflected back at him in the mirror. He set the brush down. "It certainly is exciting," he murmured to himself, tying back his long, thick locks. They swished noisily in his ears… "And almost too easy."

After all, nobody anticipated anything going on between **them**; they _were_ brothers. And, while this was inconvenient at times, it also provided them moments that other couples couldn't have—and perfectly legitimate excuses to hide behind: _"It's no big deal if I use the bathroom while Al is in there; we used to run around naked when we were little. He's got nothing I haven't seen before." "I can bring Ed's lunch to play practice. He helped me pass art class last semester; I owe him." "I'll take Al to the mall, mom, so you don't have to worry about driving. It's fine— I don't mind. It's what brothers do." _

Though brothers _didn't_ usually spend the following hours having sex in the bathtub, kissing in the costume cage, or holding hands in stores full of strangers… but no one suspected that, even if it **was** happening.

Alexander felt his insides squirm: not, for the first time in years, unpleasantly; but rather, in a happy way… a horny way. He pinked; flipped his ponytail over his shoulder.

"Alex! Alex, aren't you going grocery shopping?" His mother's voice drifted from the kitchen, barely able to mask the sound of Rosie and Mr. Elric arguing. The brunette felt his smile widen by inches. "Your brother is waiting in the car!"

"Yeah, mom! I'm coming!" Alexander returned swiftly, trying to sound properly edgy and duly annoyed. He probably failed, but he really didn't care. Thrusting his wallet into his back pocket, Al flew through the house—departing with a wave of his hand and a kiss on Mrs. Elric's cheek.

The garage door slammed shut behind him; time slowed to a craw. His heart fluttered.

Edward—already buckled in and waiting— leered at his younger sibling through the Envoy's windshield; crossing his arms over the rim of the steering wheel and resting his chin upon them.

Alex blushed excitedly.

It really was too easy.

**X**

_September, 1923_

_Dear Al, _

_I suppose I don't really need to bother with this thing anymore. I mean, you're here, now—beside me as I write this, sleeping peacefully. But I can't sleep. Maybe that's why I picked this journal up again: insomnia. Though to be honest, I haven't **tried** to sleep since the day you returned. I don't want to. Because if I close my eyes, you might disappear on me. A silly superstition, I know... You feel real enough, after all—we've held each other every night since your return; chattering pointlessly until morning, never straying from the other's side. We both needed—need— to be sure that this isn't just a dream… though the possibility of it being so is looking less and less likely, the more we interact. But a part of me remains afraid… a part of me will **always** remain afraid—from now until the day I die; no matter how much time passes. And so much time has passed, brother-mine. So much… _

_I don't know where to start, Al. Ever since you came back, things have been just like they were before. True, we're staying with Noa; true, we're not in our own world; but we're acting as if Amestris and all of our friends are still only a train ride away, and not a million, million miles. We need to talk about that: our isolation. We need to discuss Heiderich and what he did for us. _

What he did for **me**.

…if… If he really was you, Al—**this** world's you— does that make me responsible for your death… again? Why can't I stop hurting you? Hurting him? I didn't want him to… I tried to stop him…

_I should have tried harder. _

I'll never be able to repay him… and I can't even make myself cry. As if that wasn't bad enough, I held your hand throughout his funeral; rubbing it in his face. I didn't mean it like that, but I couldn't let you go.

Not even long enough to pay proper respect to the one, true friend I had here.

Perhaps I'm a horrible person. That would explain a lot… though it still wouldn't be a good excuse. I— I just hope that you can forgive me, Heiderich, wherever you are.

_As for us, Al—I suppose we'll have to see where time takes us. Without Heiderich around, I've no reason to stay in Munich. And Noa is like the wind; travel is in her blood. Perhaps we should start a new adventure… maybe that would be best for us. _

Yet another new beginning; yet another ending story.

—Ed

**X**

Thank God for tinted car windows, that's all Alex had to say.

"_Ah—_!" The boy threw his head back, sweaty bangs sticking to his face as he pulled his brother nearer, lacing his fingers through Edward's long locks. His movements disturbed the blonde's loose hair tie… golden tresses spilled everywhere, curtaining Alex's view. "Ed…ward—!"

Ed groaned in response, shifting his hold. Alexander felt himself arch; spine molding around the velvety upholstery. Plastic supports and hidden metal framework bit into his back— it felt horribly uncomfortable, yet amazing all at once. Whatever blood hadn't shot to the lower regions of his body dribbled slowly upward; his head tingled as it hung over the back edge of the seat, auburn locks pooling on the floor behind him.

"Brother. . . !" he gasped, feeling his body topple further backwards as Edward attacked his abdomen—kissing his stomach teasingly, as if it were Al's mouth. Those strong, warm hands firmly held his waist… Alex looped his bare legs around his lover; Ed's starched jeans chafed Al's inner thighs almost painfully—the undone teeth of the zipper nipped at the brunette's tender flesh.

"Alex…" Edward moaned softly, golden eyes ablaze. Their gazes locked; Alexander's cheeks glowed scarlet, as did his parted lips. He was breathing shallowly now, thick black lashes heavy with pleasure as he finally tumbled the rest of the way—his sweater slithering downward, tugging uncomfortably on the backing of the last line of seats. Alex grunted, his hips still raised and supported by the second row; chin pressed painfully to his chest. His neck was going to be killing him, later…

Ed grinned, clearly enjoying the picture. His fingers danced lazily down Al's sides, outlining his hips and thighs with a feathery 'artist touch.' Alex knew how much his brother loved memorizing him; feeling first-hand how each bone and muscle in Alexander's body worked. But right now, he really didn't care—he just wanted the fire in his loins put out. "Ed, _please_—!" Alex rasped, fisting his hands by his face. His hair was everywhere; tangled between his fingers, cushioning his head, twirling around his limbs… Edward reached out and played with a few strands, kissing the ends. "Brot—!"

He cut himself off with a silent scream, a tear of soreness and satisfaction staining his crimson cheek. At the same moment, the blonde gasped: burying his face in the pliable heat of Alex's stomach with a whimper of delight. They adjusted… And then the familiar rhythm began once more; a dance that Alexander would be happy to repeat over and over again until his dying day. The younger boy mewled, shivering as he rolled his hips, feeling Edward slide closer—over the back of the seats and down the planes of Al's body. He balanced himself on his hands, gripping stray clumps of his lover's silky auburn hair, fists vanishing within the plush cushions.

Their mouths met in a searing embrace…

"_Alex_—!"

"Ed— _aaa_—!" Alex yelped mutely as the bands of blistering heat within him snapped; the dark world flashed a bright, ecstasy-filled white. Wave after wave after wave of intensity… they crashed over him, threatening to drag him out into an alien ocean. So many different sensations— he was cramped and sticky and covered in bruises and rug burns, but _dammit _he had never felt so good.

Still gasping, Alexander wrapped his lead-like arms around his brother's torso, hugging Edward to him.

They slid completely into the back.

_Thump._

A beat of blissful silence passed, full of cuddles and butterfly kisses. Alex giggled, batting at his sibling's mischievous hands when he tried to tickle Al's sides. All the while, Edward chuckled, his lips pressed to his brother's partially exposed throat. "How did we get all the way back here, anyway?" he asked huskily, smirking. Alex could feel his lover's chest rise and fall rapidly against his own… it was almost enough to make him hard again. Hell, just begin with Ed was invigorating. "I _distinctly_ remember starting this in the driver's seat."

"Mmm… dunno," Alexander murmured, sounding a little sleepy. "It's all kind of a blur right now…" He laughed, snuggling closer to his elder sibling. It was so soothing… he felt so protected and safe in his arms.

…Yup. Rosie was right. They were _disgustingly_ happy. Or at least disgustingly **corny**… But Alex couldn't find it in himself to give a damn either way. Instead, he chose to gratefully accept the baby wipe his brother offered him, mopping up their mess as best he could. He was becoming pretty skilled at using the frigid little scraps of cloth; accustomed to the pungent smell of cheap soap. They used baby wipes pretty often, after all—had even begun hiding packets of them around the house for occasions such as this. They went through them pretty quickly, too… Alex was beginning to wonder if he should buy stock in the baby wipes market.

"You okay, Al?"

Alexander squeaked, pulled quickly from his thoughts. Edward was watching him with concerned eyes, yanking his red hoodie back on. Once his hands were free, he chivalrously offered Al his discarded pants, which had somehow wound up in the vicinity of the trunk. Alex took them with a smile.

"I'm fine," he assured, jerking on his faded jeans with a little difficulty. They felt so tight against his legs… The boy straightened his sweater with a swift movement of his hands, crumpling up the dirtied cloth which had—seconds before— been pressed to his overheated skin. "The wipes are just cold, that's all."

"Mmm." Edward nodded once—

Before yanking Alex to him, placing him firmly in his lap.

Needless to say, the sudden movement caught Alex by surprise. He squealed, about to protest, but hastily silenced himself when Ed's arms wrapped around him tenderly, not lustily. Alexander felt his body melt into a bizarre sort of romantic jelly, leaning back into the inviting embrace… Edward affectionately kissed the hollow of his throat. The brunette purred with satisfaction. "Are _you_ okay, brother?" he then asked, lashes fluttering lazily.

The blonde nodded; he could feel Ed's head move beside his own. "I just… well, forgive my cliché triteness, but I still can't believe that I'm allowed to touch you like this," Edward admitted with a faint chortle, squeezing a little tighter. "I mean, you _know _how wrong this is."

"Gay incest?"

"Gay _pedophilic _incest," the elder teen corrected with a sardonic grin. "You forget that I'm eighteen now, Al."

"Oh _yeah_…" Alex couldn't help but smile, his heart pounding loudly against his ribcage. It was a lovely feeling. "So, essentially, you're in big trouble if we ever get caught, huh? I sure hope I'm worth it."

The blonde snorted, pretending to consider this seriously. It took him a few minutes… "Eh," he finally decided, hands ghosting over Alexander's excessively sensitive body, making him writhe: bubbling over with giggles. "Probably not." Edward beamed, eyes as soft as dandelions—moving to press his brother into the bucket seats, straddling him. Their mouths met briefly; Alex too busy laughing to give a proper kiss. "But the sex is good."

Alexander snickered, gripping his sibling's wrists in an attempt to stall for time; to catch his breath. "Yeah," he airily agreed, almost managing to sound nonchalant— despite his stifled pants. "The sex _is_ pretty good… I guess I'll wait to turn you in to the authorities."

Ed gawked in mock outrage; his fine flaxen hair tickled Al's nose, caressing his cheeks in gentle waves. "Gee, thanks," he drawled, eyes sparkling wickedly. "I appreciate that, brother-mine."

They both smiled—Edward rested his head on Alexander's chest, closing his eyes.

A pause.

"…you know I love you, right?" Ed mumbled; so soft and so sudden that Alex nearly missed it. "I love you more than anything."

The brunette smiled, idly twirling a lock of sun-colored hair around his finger. "More than the sex?" He tried to sound surprised, feigning shock. But Edward didn't laugh this time; instead, he felt his brother's lips tighten in a solemn frown.

"I'm being serious here, Alexander." Long fingers found a loose handful of sweater and clutched it, refusing to let go. "I love you…"

Alex blushed beautifully.

"…I know, Ed," he whispered, allowing his own eyes to flutter shut. The car smelt of sex and sweat and baby wipes… heat crushed their bodies in soundless surges of pressure. He could hear people bustling outside; carts rattling in the parking lot. Nobody had parked beside them, thank goodness—they had chosen the furthest space from the store for just that reason. Still, the closeness of the world was intoxicating; thrilling; dangerous… they were committing a horrible sin right underneath society's big, fat nose— in the parking lot of Pick'n Save, no less.

Alex, for the first time in his life, felt completely content.

"I love you, too, brother… much, much more than I should."

**X**

_May, 1926_

_Dear Al, _

_I have to say, I hope they (re)invent automobiles, here. I miss the cars in Amestris. Trains are nice, and I suppose horse-drawn carts are good if you want some air, but there's something to be said for private, cushioned travel. _

Of course, when I said this, you just told me to be thankful that we could **afford** train tickets and horse-drawn carts; the depression has gone on for so long, we were lucky to still have that. And walking **would** have been God-awful, I admit. But so was Germany as a whole.

_I decided it was time for a change of pace. _

You agreed with this; so did Noa. Just wandering Germany was rather dull—we couldn't find that bomb, either. You said that we should expand our search to other countries. Noa suggested France; I thought we should try some place a little further up north. (Wouldn't that be the geological equivalent to that maniac's castle?)

But you're the one who keeps track of money, so you're the one who gets to decide. And you always seemed keen on experiencing a boat ride… which might explain why we're now on a slimy ship deck, watching Europe's coastline vanish into the mist. Noa is ecstatic, scurrying from level to level, speaking swiftly to the immigrants around her. I see you watching her oddly; probably because you have yet to master German. I usually have to play translator for you, even for things as simple as asking Noa where she's going.

I don't mind, though. In fact, I'm almost glad; it gives me an excuse to speak my native tongue with someone else again— something that feels so good I can hardly begin to describe it. Noa knows a bit of the language, now; she agrees that it sounds much like English, which she's heard spoken at the carnivals the gypsies she used to travel with had haunted.

_Speaking of which, many of the sailors on this ship seem to speak it, too… I wonder where this boat is headed? I should ask you… _

_  
Shit, gotta go—you're headed this way, and I don't want you to see this journal. (Though I don't know why; I wrote this for you.) _

—Ed

**X**

Everyone knew that Edward was an amazing actor. He had starred in the majority of the district's plays and musicals, had won countless awards both in and out of the school for his dramatic exploits, had been an active member of the drama department since middle school, and had only lost in the running for Thespian Club president because he was admittedly too lazy to take on the responsibilities that being president would entail. Yes, like many things, acting came easily to Ed.

Personally, Alex had never been all that interested in theatre. He didn't really know the other kids involved, for one; for another, he had never thought he'd be exceptionally good. But it _had _been a month of surprises… and to his very great shock, he'd been wrong.

Perhaps he should go for a formal audition some day.

"_I can't believe you, Ed!_" Alexander snapped, barreling into the kitchen with a stormy scowl on his face. In his arms he held a crumpled grocery bag—cans and jars jostled noisily inside of it. Their mother, who had clearly been in the process of calling Ed's cell phone, gave a start; blinking up at her fuming son. "An **hour**. Your stupidity wasted an HOUR!"

Edward—who was easing himself through the door, as well—glared furiously over the top of two more paper sacks. "MY stupidity?" he growled, cheeks red with anger. "Excuse ME, Al, but I do believe it was YOU who insisted on trying that new grocery store. It's not MY fault we got lost."

Alex graced his brother an exasperated stare, pulling a peach from one of the brown bags and chucking it at Ed. It bounced with a squishy-sounding _thump_ off of his older sibling's forehead, rolling into the corner once it hit the floor. "Don't even start! If you had followed the directions I'd given you—!"

"Edward! Alex!" Teri Elric stood with a clatter, holding out her hands in an attempt to separate her battling boys. "Stop it! I don't want to hear another word. You're back home now and that's all that matters. Alex, why don't you go finish your homework? Edward, you can help me put these away."

Both teens hung their heads, avoiding their mother's eyes—if only to keep from laughing. "Yes, mom," they chorused monotonously; coldly. However, once she'd turned away, Ed readily winked, brushing his hand against Alex's.

Al turned pink.

Then he spun away with an overdramatic and laborious sigh, grumbling curses under his breath as he followed his mother's orders. Teri twisted back to face her sons at that moment, blowing out her cheeks as she watched Alex leave. Shaking her head; short, wavy hair rustling; she finally allowed a small smile to grow on her lips. "…so Edward, tell me honestly," she abruptly demanded, chuckling; wiping her hands off on a spare towel, "did you _really_ get lost, or did you pretend to just to tease him?"

Ed, who didn't believe in being any more dishonest then necessary, simply smirked. That was all the answer his mom was looking for, anyway. As he predicted, she gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes, but didn't appear angry. "Oh, Edward," the woman sighed, though with a hint of good humor. (This didn't surprise her son either; as the saying went, you have to either laugh or cry, and Mrs. Elric preferred laughing.) "You're going to drive that poor boy **crazy** with your teasing…"

The blonde quickly busied himself with some conveniently placed cans and boxes, trying not to snicker. It wouldn't be fun to explain the punch line to _that_ joke… "I didn't mean to make him mad, mom," he insisted half-heartedly, tossing some fruit into the bowl on top of the kitchen counter. "I was just having some fun." _'A lot of fun…_'

A snort. "I'm sure. Well…I'd be lying if I said I didn't expect this sort of behavior from you two," his mother retorted wryly, placing a few boxed cake mixes in the cupboards. "You _are_ teenage boys… but I'd rather you didn't tear each other apart, all right? And really, cut Alex some slack. He's been going through a lot, recently."

Edward was having a great deal of difficulty, now, trying to keep his lips from breaking into a wide, toothy grin. Though a part of him—most of him, really—was terrified that his mother might have uncovered some sort of clue as to what was _really_ going on between them… she was so hopelessly and entirely naïve that the whole situation seemed somewhat funny at times. Like now. Which was a bad thing, for sure: nothing about this was funny—nothing at all. And yet…

"Don't worry, mom," the teen soothed with an easy smile, sliding out of his hooded sweatshirt and pulling his paint-drenched lab coat from the coat rack in the corner, "I won't tear him apart… or, at least, I'll do my best to restrain myself."

Teri beamed appreciatively, her gray eyes sparkling. "That's all I ask. Thanks for doing the shopping."

"No problem," Edward returned with a wave of his hand, fixing his bound hair. He casually tightened the elastic tie, just to make sure the ponytail was tight… "Now, if you excuse me, I have a painting I'd like to try and fini—"

But before he had a chance to leave the kitchen, someone else appeared in the doorway, blocking it. A large someone—the one person in the house as tall as him. That person paused upon noticing him, fixing his glasses, then grinned. "Ah, Edward… just who I was looking for."

Ed's smile instinctively slipped half a notch. "Hi, dad," he greeted—not cautiously, but with an air of trepidation. To be perfect honest, his father had always scared him slightly… a lot more, now that he had something important to hide. "What can I do for you?"

Mrs. Elric cleared her throat, suddenly fascinated by the dirty dishes in the sink. The blonde cast her a dark look from over his shoulder; she was in on this, too. That could only mean one thing… '_Crap…'_

"Dad—" he began with an irritated sigh, but was silenced by his father lifting his index finger meaningfully.

"I know you _think_ you know what I'm going to say, Ed," Mr. Elric interrupted with a toothy beam, clearly excited by whatever it was he had to announce, "but hear me out anyway. Now, Mr. and Mrs. Ross's daughter, Sarah—you remember her, right?— her school is having a dance next weekend, and she really likes you, Edwa—"

The blonde teen shook his head resolutely, mouth drawn down in a tight scowl. "Dad, we've been over this," Edward ground out, stuffing his hands in his pockets so that his parents wouldn't see his clenched fists. "I'm _not_ interested in her."

Benjamin Elric frowned. "I don't understand why," he retorted sternly, rubbing his neatly trimmed beard. "She's a lovely girl—pretty, sweet, and enjoys arts and crafts nearly as much as you."

Ed stiffened at the phrase 'arts and crafts.' '_What am I, a preschooler?_' "I just didn't like her, Dad," he grumbled, trying to bypass his father on his way out of the kitchen—but he was easily intercepted by a well placed arm.

"Edward," Mr. Elric began again, trying to sound less frustrated than he really was. "I appreciate how much time you dedicate to your work, and I'm thankful that you're so serious about school. But it's okay to go out on dates and have fun, too. You know that, right? I'm only trying to help you find a nice girlfriend… I can't imagine why you don't have one already. You're smart, decent, talented, and— except for that hair— good-looking…"

Ed glowered, moving away when his father attempted to place a hand on his shoulder. "I'm just not interested right now, Dad," he snapped, feeling his eyebrow give a warning tick. "I'd rather focus on college— and I'm sick of telling you that. So can we **please** let this drop?" He stormed past the moment Benjamin hesitated.

The grown man furrowed his brow. "But what abou—?"

"_Sarah can find her own date_!" Edward hollered acidly, slamming the basement door shut with all the force of an earthquake. Mr. Elric winced, grabbing a trembling picture before it toppled off the wall.

Teri didn't even look up. Instead, she smiled and snapped the dishwasher shut, wiping her sodden hands off on a dishrag. "…_that_ went well."

Benjamin simply sighed.

**X**

_August, 1927_

_Dear Al, _

_Has it really been so long since I last wrote? It's hard to believe… it feels like we boarded that rusty old ship yesterday. But no… it was over a year ago, and time just kept moving along. _

So did Noa, incidentally. After we landed in New York, she left us for a group of fellow gypsies. Though I suppose that makes her sound flakier than she really was… she didn't mean her departure to be taken as an insult. But she missed her culture and her people, and was finally ready to accept this world as her home.

_I was—am— happy for her. I'm glad that she finally found her place, just as I found mine. By your side. And your place is by me. Perhaps Noa saw that, as well, and knew that she would never be completely welcome in **our** world.  
_

_Either way, there were no hard feelings—just a heartfelt goodbye. We still get letters from her, sometimes. When her postcards find us. _

_However, we weren't alone for long. After we passed through Ellis Island (I hate that place, by the way, and am NEVER GOING BACK), we ran—quite literally—into a familiar-faced stranger. _

_Winry. _

_Only she isn't Winry anymore. Her name is Annya. You had been chasing a stray kitten down a side road; she had tripped on the unfamiliar cobbled streets. Your bodies collided with a crash that frightened all the nearby horses and sent reams of paper flying. _

She yelled—cursed and screamed in a language I didn't recognize at the time, but learnt later to be Russian. Still, I knew enough body language to realize that she was going to beat us to a bloody pulp if we didn't help her collect her things. So we did. Quickly.

An hour later, we all sat—panting and irritated—on the curb, watching carriages rattle past. She was annoyed because all of her documents had been covered in mud and horse hooves. You tried to read one of the papers, but couldn't despiser any of the words… and so, always the gentleman, you asked her politely what they were. Thankfully, she spoke English. At least enough to get by.

"_They are stories," she replied curtly, snatching the papers back. Her ragged dress ruffled as she did so; fingerless gloves covered in grime that had been present long before the afternoon's ordeal. You seemed to notice her scruffy appearance as well, horrified by how skinny she was. "But they are not good. I could not find good ones in the Soviet Union. So I decided to come here to find some." _

_My response was something along the lines of: "You came all the way to America **by yourself** to write stories?" She couldn't have been more than 13. (She wasn't. She was 12.) _

Annya flushed prettily at my remark, but her wide blue eyes grew deeply sad. And in an instant, I knew. We both knew. Still, we were quiet and allowed her to tell us how she had been orphaned by the Great War, and how her grandmother, who she had lived with after the fact, had recently died of influenza. Why she was so open with the information, I'm still not sure—maybe she was just grateful that someone cared. It didn't look like she'd been with people who cared about her for a long time.

_Maybe it was because she looked like Winry. Maybe it was because we're just a pair of saps. Maybe it's because she needed us—she was only a child. I don't know; you sure as hell didn't. But something made us take her hands—like we used to take Winry's when we were little—and lead her towards an outdoor café, with the promise of an excellent story. _

_Our story. _

_We didn't tell her everything, of course. Just the first snippet—about Resembool, about mom. About alchemy. She didn't believe a word of it, of course, but she ate it up nearly as hungrily as she did the sandwich we bought her. And when we stopped speaking, she demanded to hear more. _

Heck, she refused to leave until she'd heard more. She wanted to hear the **whole** story—but really, we weren't ready to tell it.

So we took her with us. Rather, she followed us, and we let her. We couldn't just turn her away…

_And so, here we are. Living in New York, in The Land of Dreams. At least, that's the name you told me, Al. Personally, I think it's more like the-land-of-noisy-bastards-and-arrogant-jerks, but that could be true of anywhere. We live in a tiny apartment in the slums—where wet laundry is always flapping in the wind, and rusty fire escapes decorate the crumbling stone buildings. The plunking music of Tin Pan Alley serenades us all day and night, as do the yowls of the three cats you somehow persuaded me into letting you keep. Annya is almost like a cat, too; always pawing around, curious about everything, eyes open for a story. She keeps paper everywhere, and is always jotting down notes. I'm almost afraid to light a fire in the kitchen, for fear I might scorch one of her manuscripts. (The pen IS mightier then the sword when it comes to Annya.) As for you, Al—you're always encouraging her; helping her with her English when you're not busy at work. Currently, you're working down at the docks—but that job will probably only last until the end of the summer. Then you'll have to find a new one. Thankfully, I found a somewhat-steady job down at a bar… though I've been hearing talk about a prohibition act. I should probably start applying for some sort of desk job. _

All in all, life is…

… _I don't really know. We've been so busy just **living**, I haven't really thought about it. I think I'm happy, though. I think you are, too. We're together, at least, and that's all that matters. We're safe; our secrets kept. (Though sometimes I think Annya wonders about the 'noises' she hears in our room.) So… I think we're okay. And we're going to stay okay. In which case, I should probably show you this notebook. Your birthday is coming up; maybe I'll give it to you, then. After all, you're still here—this isn't a dream (despite America's popular second name)… there's no reason for me to write in this anymore. _

…_All right, I'm fooling myself. This really has become a journal of sorts… I'm recording time that passes, aren't I, and the events that shape us. That would constitute… you know…_

_  
But I **am** writing this for you. So that, just in case you ever lose your memories again—(I still can't believe that damn Gate stole your memories! Wasn't tearing us apart **enough**? I mean, come-fucking-on—!)— you'll have some sort of record of what has happened to us in this world._

_So it's really still more of a travel log, okay? (NOT A DIARY, ALL RIGHT, ANNYA? YOU CAN STOP READING OVER MY SHOULDER, NOW.) _

_I've got to go start dinner. _

_  
—Ed_

**X**

"Ed, what's wrong?"

Edward straightened, startled by the unexpected question. "Wrong…?" He repeated blankly, blinking down at his brother. "Nothing… why?"

Alex pouted, glaring weakly at his older sibling. "Don't lie to me," he huffed, disentangling his arms from around Ed's neck. This was quite the task, seeing as how his pajama sleeves were three inches longer than necessary on either side, and the spare cloth had a tendency to knot. Still, he did so with a certain grace; crossing his arms tightly over his chest to show his growing disapproval. "You haven't been here all night—your mind is a million miles away."

"Not true," Ed protested, albeit a bit weakly, pressing his palms flat to the flannel fabric covering Alexander's thighs. "I've been as alert as a hawk."

Al scoffed, shifting on Edward's stool. They had propped it up against the wall in the corner of the basement, behind a few messy bookshelves and art-covered tables. He kicked his dangling feet. "_Sure_ you have… what's the last thing we were discussing?"

Were they discussing something?

The brunette blew out his cheeks, running his fingers through his loose hair. He'd begun wearing it down more often, because Ed had told him it made him look adorable. "Brother," he tried again, more gently this time—reaching out with his sleeve-covered hands to touch his elder sibling's face, "what's the matter? Talk to me…"

"…" Edward deflated, falling forward to rest his forehead against Alexander's shoulder. The delicate curve of the younger teen's collar bone was delightfully noticeable beneath the fuzzy softness of his pajamas; the blonde's pale fingers found Alex's forearms, hidden beneath seas of polka dotted fabric. He breathed in deeply. The younger boy smelt sweet, like vanilla—warm and wet from his recent shower. "…it wasn't anything important," Ed assured softly, nearly purring when Al wrapped his arms around him, trying to pull his lover closer. Alex seemed so tiny; petite… even smaller in those PJs. The sight filled Edward with a strange desire to protect him, though he knew perfectly well that Alexander could fend for himself. The thought made him smile. "Dad was just being stupid."

"How so?" Alex pressed lightly, resting his cheek upon Ed's crown. He used his palms to smooth down his elder's sibling's hair. Edward hummed contentedly.

"He's trying to find me a girlfriend," he mumbled, nuzzling closer to show his affection. And though it came as no surprise that Alexander stiffened upon processing this announcement, the blonde still frowned; pressing a soft kiss to the underside of Al's chin. "Don't worry, it's happened before… he's been trying to set me up with coworkers' kids since I was 15. It's just annoying, you know? Being told that I'm abnormal for not having a girlfriend, even though I'm 18…"

"I don't think he feels it's abnormal because you're 18," Alex returned flatly, though there was a hint of a smirk in his voice. "I think he feels it's abnormal because you're freaking hot."

Ed grunted. "Yeah, I think he mentioned that, too… whatever. He's probably just noticed that I've never dated anyone and needs to see me with a girl to calm his nerves. Otherwise, he might begin to think that I'm gay."

"You? _Gay_?" Alex was definitely grinning, now. "I've never heard anything more ridiculous. You're as straight as a circle."

"Shut up," Edward laughed softly, jokingly poking his brother in the ribs. At the same time, Alexander could feel Ed's lips quirk upward against his throat; the movement caused a pleasant prickling sensation to ripple through him. "You're certainly one to talk, you little hypocrite."

Alex giggled a few seconds longer, tightening his hold around his older sibling. The heat of Edward's body felt so good; so reassuring… "…you're sure it's nothing serious, right?" Alex inquired, sounding a slightly nervous as the light-hearted moment faded away. "Dad doesn't think…? He doesn't know…?"

The blonde shook his head, squeezing his arms through the gap between the small of Alexander's back and the cold cement wall, pulling his brother nearer. "No," he stated quietly. "He doesn't know. And I don't plan on _letting_ him know. As for whatever girl he chooses to push on me—"

"I don't want to see you dating anyone," Alex interrupted fretfully, starting to sound panicked. His thin fingers tightened, as if afraid Ed might drift away. "Please—"

"Don't worry," the blonde soothed, unable to swallow a tender chuckle. "That's not what I was going to say. What I _was_ goingto say was that I'll just keep tell him that I'm not interested in girls right now; I'm too busy focusing on college. Eventually he'll drop it. It's worked before; it'll work again. All right?"

Not really—it was still risky. And the more Edward refused, the more suspicious things were going to look… but really, what choice did they have? Alexander forced himself to smile, though he remained looking somewhat anxious. "Okay… you promise?"

"If you promise not to worry."

"You know I can't promise that," the brunette allowed himself a dry grin, rubbing noses with his boyfriend. "But I'll promise to try…"

Ed smiled—that beautiful, adoration-filled smile that made Alexander's heart melt and his insides squirm with giddiness. "Good enough," he agreed, pulling Alex down into a deceptively gentle kiss.

Neither rose again for another hour.

**X**

_June, 1928_

_Dear Al, _

_Technology is amazing. _

Today we went and saw a "Talkie"—a moving picture reel with words and sound. At first, I thought it might be alchemy at work; I didn't know science could do anything like that. Annya told me I was stupid (her English just keeps getting better and better); they've been talking all about this Edison character in the papers. Apparently, he's invented a lot. I wonder if he has an equivalent in Amestris? I bet Winry would like Talkies as much as Annya did—despite her sarcastic remarks, I haven't seen her more excited since the day you took her to Central Park, Al. (You spoil her, by the way. She did **not** need that new dress, even if she does look incredibly cute in it.)

_In other news, people have been talking less and less about America being the "land of dreams" and more and more about the times. "The Roaring Twenties," I believe is the proper term. I've **always** thought it was roaring—the noise level has yet to die down. _

I'll write more later. I need to go feed your damn cats. You owe me in Equivalent Exchange for this, I hope you know.

—Ed

**X**

According to Alex's pocket dictionary, "eventually" meant "in due time." A simple enough translation… However, what he really wanted to know was how long "in due time" planned on amounting to. It had already been two weeks, and their father had yet to relent in his "cupidic" endeavors. In fact, he'd only grown more persistent— he didn't even bother trying to hide his matchmaking tendencies anymore; it was a family affair.

"Really, Edward," Benjamin exclaimed over Sunday morning breakfast—the one event the Elrics were still forced to endure together. Pancakes and French toast… Edward used to hate family breakfasts because the smell of French toast made him gag; now he dreaded the gathering for new and entirely more hellish reasons. "You should at least get to know Danielle before you come to a decision. Her father tells me she adores you…"

"Dad, I don't even know who you're _talking_ about," Ed all but snarled, pushing his dissected pancakes around and around his syrup drenched plate. He felt like screaming… or attacking his father with his fork; two urges which would probably be frowned upon by the rest of the family. (Well, at least by his mother. Rosie looked ready to back him up with her cereal spoon.) "Can't I be allowed to date who I want?"

Beneath the table, Edward felt Alex's left foot brush his right; twining silently around his brother's ankle. He cast his younger sibling a subtle sideways glance, but Alexander had yet to look up from his plate. Regardless, the gesture was understood, and Ed felt himself begin to calm down.

Though not quickly enough.

"Of course," Mr. Elric chuckled robustly, cutting a careful square of French toast and popping it into his mouth. "I'm not trying to **force** a girl on you, son. I only want to see you out on the field a little, you know? You're always so preoccupied with your projects… don't you think your brother should start dating, Alex?"

Alex, understandably startled, choked on an apple slice, sliding both feet away from his brother's. (Edward's already sour expression darkened further.) "I, um… yeah, I guess so," the younger boy finally stuttered, nose wrinkling in distaste. "But really, Dad, I don't blame him for not wanting to… most of the girls at are school are idiots."

"Hey," Rosalie grumbled unenthusiastically, half-asleep. Nine A.M. was too early to do anything… "I'm one of those girls, you know."

"That's why I said 'most,'" Alexander repeated, dragging a finger around the rim of his apple juice glass. His mother shot him a reproving look; he grudgingly stopped. "But it doesn't matter, Rosie—Edward can't date you."

The teenage girl's lips unfurled in a languidly beam. "I suppose that's true," she agreed in an excessively blasé voice. "Me being family and all."

Edward and Alex both shot her frosty glares.

"By the way, Daddy," Rosie continued, undaunted by the scowls on her brothers' faces; twirling a knife between her bejeweled fingers, "with all this work you're putting into Ed's love life… are you gonna try to find _me _a boyfriend?"

Benjamin snorted, sprinkling powdered sugar over his French toast. "Absolutely not—you're too young to date, baby girl."

Instantaneously, Rosie's face mutated into a glower, narrowing her lined eyes. "That's pretty sexist of you, Dad," she quipped, crossing one leg over the other and resting her chin in a palm. Classic Rosalie fighting stance… It took Alex a minute to realize that she was purposely—and successfully—trying to distract their father from the matter at hand.

He had never loved her more than he had at that moment.

"Why is everything I do sexist?" their father grumbled, sounding irate. "I don't mean to say that you can _never_ date… I just don't think you're old enough yet, Rosie. You're only 14, and—well, you have a bit of a wild side. I don't want to see anything bad happening to you, like… you know…"

"Sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll?" Rosie filled in flippantly, her glossed lips pulling back in a feral grin. "C'mon, Dad. Can you honestly see me doing the nasty with a bunch of guys before marriage?"

Nobody answered that. Rosalie's forehead furrowed in true anger.

"Thanks for all the support," she drawled, clearly offended. "And here I thought my own family knew me… I am _not_ that bad! I would never have sex before marriage or some other legally-binding commitment ceremony."

"It's not that we don't trust you, honey," Teri put in gently, taking a sip of milk. "Your father and I just don't think you're quite as mature as your brother, yet."

"Not true…" Rosie grunted, frightfully mad now. Not that any of this dating-stuff affected her; with Rosalie, it was always 'the principle of the issue.' And she didn't like losing, even when she wasn't in the race. "You just don't think he has a sex drive…"

Alexander choked on air, trying not to blush. Edward just looked annoyed. "I'm right here, you know," he reminded sarcastically, leaning back in his chair with a look of pure irritation on his face. "And I don't appreciate the family discussion of my sex life…"

"Which I'm sure is non-existent," Mr. Elric stated confidently. (Alex was having a little trouble breathing now— coughing meaningfully into a napkin.) "I'm not encouraging any of you to go have sex. Sex comes after marriage and no sooner. I'd just like to see Ed get out and meet new people—"

"—of the female persuasion—"

"—so that he knows what to look for _in_ a future wife," Benjamin finished, ignoring Rosalie's silent rant on how much a bigot he was. "In fact, I should start asking around for you, too, Alex. You're ready, I think; definitely responsible. Why not try again with Zena, now that you're both a little older?"

Alexander's flushed cheeks paled. '_Crud…_' "Dad, I…"

"He's already got a girlfriend," Edward announced, standing with a clatter of food-filled plates and a half-drunk glass. All eyes snapped upon him. Ed grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Al, I know I promised I wouldn't tell, but it looks like Dad won't be mad…"

Alex blinked vacantly at him; he thought his heart had stopped for a moment. "Brother…"

"Is that true?" Mr. Elric excitedly inquired, without bothering to wait for an answer. Which was good, since Al didn't give one… but he _did_ nearly buckle over in pain when his father clapped him happily on the back. "That's fantastic, Alex! Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"I…" Alexander floundered, completely lost. '_What just happened here?_'

But again, their father didn't even pause— throwing a wide grin in Edward's direction. Ed was (rather determinedly) not paying attention to this; his back to the table as he scrubbed his dishes down in a spray of cold water. "See now, son? It can't be so hard to get a girl if Alexander here can. You know how shy he gets, after all…" Alex was pretty sure he should feel offended by this, but he was too mystified to care. '_What's Ed trying to pull—? Does he want to end it…?'_ "Why don't I give Danielle's parents a call, eh? You're free tonight, ri—?"

_CRASH!_

The sudsy tableware slammed into the dishwasher with enough strength to shatter stones; the entire family jumped in shock, turning towards Edward with wide eyes. He was clutched the rim of the sink with trembling fingers, right eyebrow twitching dangerously.

Alex felt his stomach clench. '_Don't do anything stupid, Brother—!'_

Whether or not Ed heard Al's silent plea could not be determined. However, he did attempt to compose himself: taking a deep breath, flicking his golden eyes over Benjamin's startled face. "…all right, Dad," he bit out, voice sounding strangely tight. Alex and Rosie cast each other dismayed glances; something _wasn't_ right. "You know what? I give up. I don't know how I can make this any clearer, so I'll give it to you straight: I'M NOT."

"…" Mr. Elric blinked blankly at him, visibly puzzled. "…Excuse me?"

"I'm _not interested in girls_, Dad," Edward spat, slamming a fist against the counter. Alexander and Rosalie jumped a second time; their parents simply stared. "I wasn't interested in them yesterday, I'm not interested in them today, and I'm not going to be interested in them tomorrow. _I'm **gay**_. Always have been, always will be."

He tried to grin, but it ended up looking more like a grimace. "…That's just the way I am."

Alex's insides disappeared—as did, it seemed, their father's. He sat there, gaping… His wife didn't seem any more stable; torn between alarm and astonishment. Rosie, on the other hand, knew exactly how she felt: panicked; casting Edward a look which plainly screamed '_what the fuck are you doing, you idiot!'_

But she didn't say it.

There was only silence.

**X**

_December, 1929_

_Dear Al, _

_I've decided that we are a curse. We must be, with the amount of shit that trails behind us. Shit like depression. Depression seems to follow us everywhere. And not just the emotional kind, haha. No… _

_The stock market crashed in October. They're calling it the "Great" Depression. The one in Germany was very much like this… Only this time, we can't just run away. We're broke. Not as broke as most families, thankfully, but money is tight. I lost my job at the bar—that damn prohibition act passed. Then again, even if it hadn't, I would have lost it anyway. Everyone has been losing their jobs… well, most everyone. I have a few higher-classed friends—you get to know a lot of people through alcohol— and they've managed to secure us some work. Not much, but enough to live on. _

_Annya has helped as much as she can: she's sold her extra dresses and toys, sacrificed her precious paper for the furnace; she even offered to go work in the factories. I wouldn't hear of it, though—I've seen what they do to kids there. So instead, she takes care of the house while we work. As payment, we tell her more of our story. Since she can't write it down anymore, she memorizes it instead— even composes music to it and hums it while she works, so as to commit it to memory. It's kind of disturbing, really, hearing chapters of your life being sung by your surrogate daughter while she cleans out the oven. But it's cute, too. You've started calling her our little Ziegfeld Folly. Even she laughs when you do._

_  
…It's nice… to still be able to laugh. It's comforting, really, to know that we're not that far gone; that we can keep moving forward, no matter how bleak things seem. _

_There may be hard times are ahead of us, Alphonse, but I'm sure we can get through them together. _

—Ed

**XXX**

_Dun dun DAAAAA! Cliffhanger! EEEEK! (Runs screaming from readers.) _

Remember, if you kill me, I can't update! (hides)

_(PS. I did the calculations, in case anyone was wondering—at the time they meet Annya, Ed is 22 and Al is (physically) 17. Annya, as stated before, is 12. _

_Just so you know. _

_Yup._

_(goes back to hiding)) _


	7. Letter Seven

_Disclaimer: Ummmmm… _

Author's Note: Hiya! X3 A few notes before we begin.

One—a couple of people mentioned that they didn't agree with Edward and Alex suddenly having sex; that their relationship seems sort of rushed. And, while I can appreciate where these people are coming from, I'd like to defend myself and my actions with the following points:

—Edward and Alex have known each other for over sixteen years. They're already well aware of each other's talents, vices, opinions, etc. They **already** know each other, VERY well, which can almost be said to be an advantage over…er, well… "non-incestuous" couples. The kissing, cuddling, and sex is a much smaller step for them.

—_They DO do other things besides have sex. As mentioned last chapter, they also like innocent kissing and holding hands and stuff. They even go on out-of-town "dates," where people won't know them, when they can. _

— _**They're teenage boys**. Forgive my stereotypical judgment here, but that's just how teenage boys are. Sex is constantly on their minds! _

_So, yeah. Also, a few people mentioned how, technically, Edward and Alex's relationship is NOT pedophiliac. That may be true; I had always heard that pedophilia constitutes as any couple where one person is 18 or older and the other isn't. I could be wrong… it was really just supposed to be a funny comment. (sweatdrop)_

_In any case, thanks for all the awesome feedback for last chapter! I apologize for any historical mistakes I may have made (my US history is…er… lacking) and am very happy that people are enjoying, regardless. X3 _

_Please enjoy chapter seven! (Things are starting to get interesting again… heehee.) _

**XXX **

X

X

X

If I could choose one word to describe myself, I think the word I'd pick would be "lazy."

Not the kindest self-analysis, I know. And I suppose, if I wanted to be egotistical, there are a bunch of other words that I could claim suit me: "talented," "laid-back," even "handsome," according to the girls at school. But let's be honest: first and foremost, I'm _lazy_. Embarrassingly so. Heck, it's my laziness which birthed all of those other wonderful adjectives. Seriously.

Why did I start painting; drawing? Why did I look into acting at _all_? How did I become so "talented" at both? I was too lazy to try out for competitive sports.

Why am I always so "laid-back"? Why do I rarely get into fights? Why do I generally evade confrontation? Because getting mad takes work and I'd rather avoid it.

Why did I grow my hair out? It sure wasn't because people told me it made me look "handsome." It was because it was easier to whip it in a pony-tail than go to the barber.

Don't even get me started about my choice of clothes. Mom is _still_ trying to talk me into buying a new pair of jeans, or at least fix the broken zipper on the pair I always wear. But no… I like them, they're comfortable, and I'm just too lazy to do anything else with them.

I'm telling you, "sloth" isn't just a deadly sin: it's a way of freakin' life.

At least… it was. Then…

I— I don't know. I guess I'm just a romantic moron at heart, but… when I saw Alex sitting there, looking so scared; when he told me that he didn't want to see me dating other people; whenever he smiles at me, or blushes, or speaks, or just IS…

I _love_ him. So much…

…And I realized, at that moment—with dad barreling down on me, my hands covered in soap suds— that I'd finally found something I wanted to work for:

Us.

**X **

X

X

**XXX **

Skeletons

XXX

"_Get out_."

Benjamin's voice shook, much like his hands, but his face was set—firm and furious. Stark white, eyes glittering wildly, he pointed towards the door…

The words echoed though the otherwise silent kitchen.

Edward bristled, but that was all. He didn't move or speak or even appear frightened…and though his fists did tighten, it was in a resolute sort of way. Alex didn't know how he could stand there so calmly; if he was in his brother's shoes, he'd be terrified. Heck, he was terrified _now,_ and he wasn't on the receiving end of his father's icy glare.

Teri was the first to break the tension, managing to find her voice after a noiseless moment of desperate pleading— sending Edward an imploring glance from over her husband's shoulder, as if soundlessly begging her oldest son to retract his words. Ed, however, didn't even look at her. She whimpered, standing; touching Benjamin's shoulder with her thin, quaking hands. "Ben…"

Her husband shrugged away from her touch. The woman recoiled as if she'd been slapped; Rosie leapt to her feet, fingers clenched into ashen fists. "Daddy," she said quietly—in a strange voice that Alex had never heard her use before. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that that was because she sounded timid— even petrified. Rosalie, nervous? That couldn't be right… "Daddy, please. Calm down and think things through. You don't want to do thi—!"

But rather than help, her words only served to further infuriate the older man. Whirling around in a frenzy of rage, Benjamin snapped his wrathful glare on both of his younger children, his face a fiery red. "_Did you know_…?"

Rosie dropped back onto her seat, trembling. Alexander grasped her hand underneath the table, surprised to feel how urgently she clung back. Her nails bit into his skin like teeth, reminiscent of the days she'd hold his hand while they wandered around the city, looking for Grandpa's apartment. Strange, really, how he'd think of that now…"Dad, we—"

"_DID YOU KNOW?_" their father roared, slamming a fist down on the table. The cutlery jumped and rattled; Teri shot her children a pitiful look. She had no idea what to do, either. "Did you know that your brother was— _Rosalie_, did you influence—!"

"They had _nothing_ to do with it!" Edward cut in firmly, raising his voice for the first time in years. For a brief moment, he allowed his strong mask to fall— casting his brother and sister a desperate glance when they opened their mouths to protest. Both younger teens swallowed, still cowering under Mr. Elric's deadly gaze.

Then they shook their heads, lowering their faces to the floor. "N—no, sir…"

Ed visibly relaxed for half of a second, content in knowing that his siblings, at least, were safe for the moment; then snapped back into his role when Ben spun to face him once again. The two men stood tall, proud, towering, stubborn…

Benjamin lifted a finger, pointing towards the door. "GET OUT."

Edward nodded once.

And out he walked.

**X**

_February, 1930_

_Dear Al, _

_They discovered a new planet a few days ago. It was in the paper. I don't know if they've named it yet, but it got me thinking about home. _

_Pathetic, I know. I should let the memories of Amestris stay where they belong—behind me. And I have no real desire to go back anymore; everything I need is here. Still, a part of me will always long for the world in which we belong, and wonder how things are going over there. Wonder if we'll ever find out. _

I know Heiderich thought that our world lay just beyond the sky, but with all of these new planets cropping up—it makes me think that maybe Amestris isn't so much an alternate dimension; just a distant planet. And perhaps the Gate is really some sort of fucked up worm hole.

I don't know… it was just a passing thought. But even if it was true, we'd have no way of getting to it. Nor any way to tell where to look for it.

Either way, I'm not sure if I'd want to go back. Realistically. We couldn't bring Annya with us—look at what happened to Cullison and to Heiderich when their alternate personalities found them. I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to either Annya or Winry— and there's probably no place for us in Amestris, anymore. Things will have changed too much.

We_ will have changed too much._

_One of the problems I've always had with life is that I've never been able to appreciate how wonderful things are until I've succeeded in screwing up. For once, I want to just accept what I have and move on. _

_  
…Though when scientists find things like new planets or technologies—when they make announcements that make me think of all the things we used to know— it's kind of hard.  
_

_I suspect it always will be. _

_  
—Ed_

**X**

The morning air was as cold as it was damp, beautiful autumn sunlight bouncing off the heavy fog as it rolled over the little subdivision, leaving dew-drop kisses on the rubbery green grass. Edward's sneakers squeaked as he walked down the cement driveway, pausing on the edge of the road. Then, with a definitive sort of hum, he tugged his cell phone out of his lab coat pocket and—for the first time in two years—turned it on.

Pressing speed dial number three, he waited; hesitated, then pulled his cigarettes out as well. By the time the person he'd called had answered, he was already on his fourth drag.

"Hey, Lisa?" the blonde greeted cheerfully, expelling a slate-colored ribbon of smoke. It curled innocently around his head, vanishing in the misty air. "Yeah, it's Edward… no, I'm not kidding. No, I'm not a fucking idiot, either; I know it's early Sunday morning. Sorry…. Sorry….Sorry. Ye— yes, I know, Lisa. C'mon, you know I wouldn't call unless it was an emergency, right? Well, it is. …No, really. No, I haven't lost my script. N— no, Lisa, would you liste—? Lisa… My dad just kicked me out of the house, okay? For good. …yeah, that's what I thought, now you feel guilty for yelling at me, don't you?"

He snickered, flicking the tip of his cigarette. A little stream of ashes crumbled off the end, falling to the moisture-darkened ground. "It's all right, sweetie, I know you didn't know… no…. yes, I'll still be going to school. Look, all I need is a place to stay for a day or two; just long enough to find a place of my own. I know that's asking a lot, especially with how big your family is, but— _NO, I'm not asking Todd!_ Stop laughing. This is **serious**. You know I—"

But Ed silenced himself abruptly, straightening; oblivious to Lisa's crackling questions as they poured from his phone. His ears had picked up a softer sound...

"I don't want you to go."

Edward smiled gently, stamping out his cigarette and holding up a finger. "Li— Lisa, love, breathe. All right. You listening? I'm gonna come over and we can talk, okay? Is that okay? Good. Thanks, hon." The cellular snapped shut with an audible _crack_.

"_I don't want you to go_," Alex repeated tearfully, hands bunched at his sides, glaring up at his older brother with as much fierceness as he could muster. Admittedly, it wasn't very much… which possibly explained why Edward simply chuckled, flicking his hair over his shoulder.

"Al, you know I don't have a choice in this," he said calmly, turning on his heel to face his baby brother. "It's not like I _want_ to leave. Do you know how much an apartment is going to cost me? I'd much rathe—"

"Then don't go!" Alex interrupted, nearly groveling, as water began to well in the corners of his eyes—slipping down his cheeks despite his snuffling attempts to stop them. "Don't go… wait a little while, I'm sure Dad will—!"

But Edward only shook his head; shook his head and tenderly grinned. "It's not about Dad," he murmured; unexpectedly— and for a reason the brunette didn't understand— bending down: kneeling in front of his younger sibling. Alex bit his bottom lip, trying his best not to sob, for once staring _down_ into his brother's expressive face. He was shaking… "It's not about Dad or Mom or anyone else, anymore, Alex. It's about me. Me, finally being mature enough to stand up for myself. Me, finally being mature enough to _be_ myself. Me, finally being mature enough to work for something I want."

Ed reached out a hand, pushing a stray strand of Alexander's dark hair behind his ear. He beamed. "It's going to be okay. It may take a little while, but things will work out. All right?"

Alex swallowed harshly, grabbing the hand lingering by his cheek. "Do you promise…?" he asked wetly, wishing he never had to let go.

"If you promise not to worry."

The brunette felt a cynical smile tug on his lips, though his eyes continued to shimmer with tears. "I've told you…" he whispered, slowly loosening his grip on his brother's fingers. "I can't promise that."

"But you _did_ promise to try," Edward said steadfastly, pushing himself back to his feet. "That's all I ask." And Alex, despite himself, managed to give a short, jerky nod.

There was a brief silence; Ed watched his little brother's sniveling attempts to compose himself, looking suddenly lost—torn. "…I wish I could hug you, right now," the blonde admitted quietly, forcing his arms to lie at his sides. Alexander offered an understanding smile.

"That's all right…" he swallowed, voice thick with emotion, though he seemed to be itching for the same thing. "Dad might be watching… I only managed to sneak out of the kitchen 'cause he was so busy yelling…"

"Not at Mom or Rosie, I hope?" Alex shook his head no. "Good. Just in general, then?"

"About how you're not his son anymore, and stuff," the brunette informed, sounding rather guilty for having to play the messenger. But if Edward was hurt by this news, he didn't show it—he just blew out his cheeks and shrugged. Still, Alex felt inclined to add: "I'm sure he doesn't really mean it, Brother."

"Well, it wouldn't matter if he did." The blonde tapped the toes of his shoes against the ground, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I'll be out of here soon enough… oh, don't look at me like that, Al. You'll see me around! I'll be at school and I'll have to come back to get my stuff. _And_ …as soon as I find my own place, you can come visit your 'girlfriend,' yeah?" Ed arched an eyebrow, winking.

Alexander blushed, squeaking; his brother laughed.

"Go on, Al," the blonde encouraged, still chortling softly. "Go back inside, before Dad notices you're talking to me. We don't want him to get any more suspicious, right? Don't worry about me. I'll be just fine."

Of course, this was all easier said than done. Leaving now—watching Edward walk away—it felt like something was ending. And something _was_ ending… but what, Alex wasn't quite sure. Still, he didn't want to let it go. "I want to come with you."

"You know you can't," Edward lightly reprimanded, though his voice was definite. He moved his head again, vaguely, in the direction of the house. "I'll call you as soon as I possibly can, okay? I'll call Rosie's line; that way Dad won't hang up on me. And I'll see you in school. We can have lunch together, like usual. _It will be okay_."

Alex seemed understandably unsure, twisting his pajama sleeve over and over in his clammy hands. Regardless, he nodded, echoing his brother's words. "It will be okay..."

"That's right," Ed nodded encouragingly, leaning forward and inch or two— hands still jammed in his pockets. "I love you, Alexander," he reminded, though he spoke so quietly that the words were nearly lost to the wind. "Remember that. Now, go back into the house, okay? For me? I don't want you catching a cold."

The brunette flushed, apparently embarrassed. "I'm not gonna get sick from a little damp air," he grumbled, glaring at his feet. But neither were fooled—Alex was hiding his eyes for an entirely different reason. "…I love you, too, Edward," he finally breathed, speaking into his hands as he clutched his face. A little whimper wormed its way out of his throat, shuddering and muffled. "I love you so much that it _scares_ me…"

"…" Edward beamed—though for once, the gesture was somewhat disheartening. "Maybe for good reason."

He turned away.

And as Alex watched him go; nonchalant at first, but gradually curling in upon himself, moving faster; the younger boy felt a piece of himself leave, too. It hurt… ('_He's going…he's really going._')…it hurt too much to watch— ('_He's not going to be here; he's going togoaway. He's not goingto be…')_—to speak— ('_Notgoingto beherehe's notgonna—')—_to breathe—!

Throat tightening painfully, Alexander spun back towards the house—half running, half limping— coughing as his world started to spin. He felt himself slam the front door shut, rather than hear it: the sound of rushing blood was too loud in his ears; his sight fuzzy from tears. Alex wobbled towards their room—now _his_ room— rubbing feverishly at his eyes… but they were dry. Why wouldn't his vision clear? Why was it…? His mind was racing; too fast; it hurt—!

His body brushed Rosie's; where had she come from? Why were there… two of her…?

"Alex? Alex, what's wrong—?"

Alexander groaned, his stomach lurching as his heart gave a sharp stab. He was going to throw up… "Don't— feel…" he wheezed, his mouth as dry as sand, limbs heavy like stone. "Don't…"

The ground beneath him crumbled…

Rosalie screamed.

**X**

_May, 1930_

_Dear Al, _

_On the bright side, we haven't been kicked out of the apartments, yet. _

_Really, that's all the good news I can think of. The Depression hasn't gotten any better, we're not making nearly enough money, we have no heat, no food, no lights or candles, and one of your cats just died. So of course, you're inconsolable, and Annya is panicking. While I have known you long enough to realize that you just want to be left alone right now, she is desperately trying to cheer you up—her English regressing into short, choppy sentences as her flustered state worsens. I tried to consol her earlier; I tried to get her to leave you alone; but she's nearly as stubborn as we are. _

She's pounding on our bedroom door, right now. I'm sitting on the couch, watching her, and you're sulking—yelling randomly through the door that if she doesn't stop right now, you're going to put her in a time out. That may have worked when she was 12 (and only ever for you, she just argues with me), but Annya is now defiantly 15. A frustrated_ defiant 15-year-old, to boot.  
_

_I just hope that I don't have to peal her away from the d—_

**X**

A sigh.

"Mom… you really don't have to sit here. I promise I'm okay— _really_."

Teri Elric shook her head, moving impulsively back and forth on the rocking chair she'd pulled into her son's bedroom. "I know, honey," she muttered, though her face remained pale and her body tense; nervously folding the laundry in the basket beside her. Her hands flicked as swiftly back and forth as the chair did— fold, fold, crease, press; back, forth, back, forth. "I know. The doctors keep telling us… it's just stress, but… but me sitting here is for _my _health, not yours." She offered a weary smile, though clearly took comfort in the sight of Alex: sitting up, breathing normally, that strange black book in his lap again. Bunny rested innocently beside his leg, playing the part of Alchemy's toy. Teri gradually began to relax, brushing stray bangs from her eyes. "So don't mind me. You can keep reading if you'd like. Or I can bring you something to drink…?"

"No," Alex murmured, lashes fluttering lazily as he stared down at his grandfather's diary. "No, I'm okay. And I'm sorry that I gave you such a scare, Br— (he reddened, feeling insanely stupid.)—I mean, Mom."

"…" Mrs. Elric's hands fell into her lap. "…I'm sorry, Alex," she whispered, avoiding her child's gaze. "I know that you're used to Edward being here…and this morning… it must have been such a shock— and then he left so quickly. And I… I couldn't even—!"

She cut herself off, taking a deep, shuddering breath. After a feeble moment of trying to collect herself, the woman sighed. "You have to forgive your father, sweetie. He… he has his reasons. I know it seems harsh, but if you understood _his_ side of things—"

Despite his best attempts to keep control, Alexander felt his fists constrict; slamming into his mattress with stifled thuds. The bedspread leapt into the air—as did Alchemy, who scampered out the door with a startled yowl. "_HIS_ side of things?" the boy repeated, lip curling. "What on _earth_ could justify—!" He broke off with a cough— just one; to clear the tickle from the back of his throat. All the same, his mother fell to pieces: toppling forward in a mad scramble for medicine. "MOM! I'm fine, I promise!"

Teri froze, embarrassed; clutching the hand Alex placed on top of her own. "Sorry, Alex…" she apologized for a second time, now kneeling beside him. "I…it's hard for me, to see this happening and— and I'm worried about you. And Edward. And Rosie. And your Dad."

She nodded when her son snorted, looking away. "I know… You have every right to be mad at him, sweetie. I understand why you're questioning what he did. But…well, to be honest, he's _scared_."

Alexander cast his mother a flat look, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "_Scared_? Of **_what_**? Edward being _gay_? **_Please_**!"

Mrs. Elric didn't reply. Instead, she turned her face away, tightening her fingers around her son's.

Alex blinked at her. "…you _cannot_ be serious," he drawled, obviously exasperated. "Why would Edward being gay _scare_ him? I mean, I know he's a homophobe, but—"

"Look," Teri sighed, picking herself back up and settling down on her chair—returning to her rapid rocking and speedy sorting, "I really shouldn't be the one to tell you this… it humiliates your Dad. But… yes. The idea of anyone being in a homosexual relationship frightens your father. You see, your Dad's father was… um, that is…"

Alexander felt his lips pull back in a dry grin. "He was gay."

It was a statement, not a question. His mother seemed momentarily startled by this blunt proclamation—and a little confused as to Alex's knowledge of the subject—but nodded all the same. "Yes… he was. And your Dad knew… he—I think he told me that he'd read it somewhere. In a journal or something… when he was little."

In an instant, the world stopped spinning.

Alexander's eyes widened, stomach twisting into knots. _'Dad… read Grandpa's diary—?_' he gaped, feeling his own jaw drop._ 'When? **Why**? But wait… that means— He KNOWS…?_'

How Teri had decided to interpret Alex's apparent horror was a mystery in and of itself, but she didn't seem to have translated it correctly. Instead of holding out a hand and insisting to see the journal (which he'd subtly shoved under his quilt), she nodded glumly, working on pairing up socks. "I know… it was quite a shock to him, too. I think it affected him more than he admits—" She paused; she chuckled dejectedly. "Ha, I guess **that's** an understatement, considering… But, well, whenever he hears about homosexual couples, I think he remembers his father…and that he may never have been born. It's a scary thought, I'm sure. That and… well," Teri sighed, sounding dismayed, "he grew up with his mother—your grandmother, Annya; you never met her, she died right after Edward was born… but she was always so depressed. As a result, Ben… I suppose it'd have been strange if he _hadn't _been affected."

…Silence.

Alexander's head was spinning—not unpleasantly, for once, but numbly. Cold, raw, numb shock… he was still having trouble processing it. Dad, knowing? Knowing Grandpa's secret? Since he was—what, a child?

_Annya_. Mom had mentioned Annya—Dad's mom. She was Dad's mom? His Grandma? And she… she was depressed? Why? She seemed so happy in Grandpa's journal…

What happened?

'_What happened?'_

"What happened…?" Alex heard himself choke, hands trembling on his knees; watching his mother with bright, shock-filled eyes. Glancing up, Mrs. Elric gave a jolt—startled by the intensity of his stare. "What happened? Between Grandpa and Grandma? Between Dad and his parents? What happened…?"

"I… uh," Teri blinked, taken aback. "I don't really know, honey. I think your father had a talk with your Grandpa, but… I can't really say what happened. They seemed on good enough terms, I guess. As for your Grandma and Grandpa, I… they…didn't really talk much, after your father left for college. And then Grandma died of a heart attack before you were born."

"But Dad—Dad knew? He knew that Grandpa was gay?" the brunette reiterated, wanting to make sure he hadn't misunderstood—the concept was still so foreign; so strange! Dad had read the diary… when he was little! That _would_ have hurt—but would it really have been enough to tear a child's whole world to pieces, like Teri seemed to suggest?

Mrs. Elric frowned slightly, beginning to look annoyed. "Yes, Alex. I told you. He's known for many, many years, and the memories are still painful for him. That's why it's important for you to understand why Edward being gay was such a nasty shock."

Alex nodded mechanically, mind still whirling—faster and faster and faster. '_This changes everything… if Dad knew; if he realized that his father was— that Edward Elric was—'_

…wait.

"Mom," Alex said—hastily hushed, gazing blankly out the distant window: the sunset pouring through in shades of vivid gold. The sound of his mother gathering up her things resonated oddly in his ears, along with the pounding of his own heart. "If Dad knew Grandpa was gay—if he knew and was so terrified, scarred, and revolted by it…"

Teri glanced up. "Yes…?" she prompted, balancing the laundry basket on her hip. He could tell by her stance that she was about to leave—probably to prepare dinner, where she'd promptly forget this conversation; probably even pretend they'd never had it.

Alexander hesitated, the words stuck in his throat.

He closed his eyes. "Never mind," the brunette decided, sitting stock-still as his mom chirped an overly cheerful "All right," kissed his cheek, and (though tentatively, frequently casting him anxious glances over her shoulder) strolled out the door. Which was fine; he'd rather be alone. But even though she'd gone, Alex couldn't get her words out of his mind—or tear the question off of his lips.

Why?

If Benjamin Elric knew that Edward Elric Senior, his father, was gay—had known it from an early age; had suffered terrible psychological side-effects because of it…

Why had he named his eldest son after him?

**X**

_May, 1930_

_Dear Al, _

_All right, that was just…_

_I guess "weird" isn't the right word for it. "Amazing" doesn't quite fit, either. But it was certainly memorable. I mean, you even opened your bedroom door; you forgot that you were pouting! That doesn't happen ever day…_

_Neither does my dropping a pen, ruining the rest of a journal page with ink stains as I boggle wordlessly. _

"_What…was that?" you asked Annya—rather breathlessly, actually, gaping at her though the open doorway. She blushed, fiddling with her apron and casting me an embarrassed glance. Then she adverted her eyes again, playing with a strand of her curly hair, announcing that it was the refrain to a song she was working on—a present for us. It wasn't finished yet, but it seemed like a good time to test it, per say. _

"_But it's in Russian," I pointed out, though still thoroughly impressed. It was… haunting, her melody. Like a tune that I'd heard before, so many times, but had forgotten. "We don't speak Russian." _

_She smiled and replied: "But I do. I will write it down for you; I will translate it for you. I will put it in your little book, too, if you like." _

Of course, that_ caught your attention, Al, and you noticed me writing in here. I guess I'll have to explain myself, later. Shit. _

But… I don't really care. Rather, that's not what disturbs me. What does is… Annya's voice, actually. Don't get me wrong, it's beautiful—but it's so mature. More mature than it was when we'd first met her. I'd forgotten how old she actually is; I hadn't realized how developed she'd become in the few short years since we'd met: how attached to us—to you—she's become. I see her coloring when you glance her way.

_This could be a problem. _

_  
—Ed_

**X**

"_What do you mean, you FAINTED?_"

Alexander sighed, growing increasingly tired of being chewed out. "Brother," he whispered into the faux fur-covered phone, "please. I told you, I'm fine. It was just a panic attack…"

But Edward wouldn't hear of it. Immediately, he launched into a furious rant. "_Al, why didn't you call me? I was only half way down the street! I woul—"_

The brunette rolled his eyes, shooting Rosie an apologetic smile, holding the receiver a few inches from his ear. Ed's voice poured from it, loud and clear; she huffed, jiggling her foot impatiently beside Alex's bed, swiveling around in her computer chair. It was her telephone he was using, her phone line he was tying up. As long as Edward continued blabbering, she wouldn't be able to do anything on the internet… she probably had four dozen messages waiting to occupy her, all along the lines of 'you wanna get together?' And she would never know. A fact that clearly irked her.

Her brow scrunched in a warning glare.

"—_r another thing, if you had listened and gotten out of the cold—!_"

"Ed," Alex attempted once more, trying his best to talk over his brother without speaking too loudly. Who knew where Benjamin was? "Forget about it, okay? I'm _fine_. Tell me about you. What's going on?"

"_But—_" Edward made a frustrated noise; in his mind's eye, Alexander could see him pulling a hand through his hair. It made his heart give a little lurch… "_…Oh, all right. Let's see. I'm staying with Lisa tonight, but that's all her parents will allow, gay or not. After that, I'm being tossed over to Todd— stop laughing, right now!— and am staying with him until I get my finances straight. I had to dip into my college money, but there's a little flat on the edge of town that's relatively cheap. Not anything fancy, but it's a place to stay._"

"How much is it?"

"_Six hundred and fifty a month._"

Alex frowned dubiously, pressing the phone closer to his ear. The magenta fur tickled his nose… "That seems like a lot."

His brother laughed; there was a squeaking flop, suggesting that he'd just lain back on an old, springy mattress. The smile was evident in his voice. "_It could be worse. I have plenty of cash saved up in my bank account, and that college money I was talking about. It'll be enough to get me the apartment and some food… At least until I can get some kind of job. And my art teacher has been trying to talk me into selling some pieces for a while; maybe I'll take her up on that._"

"What about school?"

"_I told you,_" Edward soothed, smothering a yawn. "_I'll still be there. I **have** to graduate from high school. I'll just take a year or two off before college in order to replenish the cash that I'm stealing from my account, right now._"

"You really have this all planned out, don't you?" Alexander praised, unable to keep a small grin off of his face. Rosalie noticed this and snorted, grumbling something about looking like a school girl. Alex glared, flushed; forcing himself to stop twirling his hair around a finger. "Are you sure that you don't need any help? I have some money…"

Ed cut his lover off by blowing a loud, wet raspberry. In the background, Lisa yelled something about not wanting to catch his gayness, so cut it out. Even Alex laughed. "_It's fine, Al; I don't need your money. I have to do this myself, you know? Besides, you'll have your own expenses to worry about, soon enough._"

"I'm only a junior," Alex protested. "I won't have to worry about college for a while."

"_It's coming up faster than you think._"

"Yeah… mayb—"

"Look, if you guys aren't gonna talk about anything important," Rosie interrupted, irritated; drumming her long nails incessantly against the arms of her chair, "then would you _please_ call it a freakin' night? You've been on for over an hour!"

Which wasn't nearly enough time, in Alexander's book—though he wasn't sure what _would_ be enough time. Heck, he wasn't sure if there'd _ever _be enough time… Not when he was used to his brother being right there. He sighed. "Rosie says I have to hang up now, Edw—"

_Edward_.

The brunette straightened, the unintentional reminder causing electricity to shoot through his veins like lightening. '_I should tell him—_' "Brother," he said, talking quickly now; quite aware of his sister's rising urge to kill. "I forgot to mention: I had a talk with Mom today. About Dad. There's something strange about your name—"

"_My name?_"

"Alex!" Rosalie snarled, gritting her teeth furiously. Alexander privately feared she was going to claw a hole through her seat's armrests. "Tell him LATER."

The boy pouted, indignant. "But Rosie—!"

"_It's okay,_" Ed interrupted, clearly aware of what was going on. "_You can tell me later. I should probably get going, anyway—I promised Lisa I'd do the dishes for her. Equivalent exchange, and all that._" From somewhere close to his elder sibling, Alex could hear Lisa mutter: "Damn straight."

"…all right," Alexander reluctantly agreed, deflating a bit. "I'll talk to you later, right?"

"_Of course you will,_" Edward insisted soothingly. "_I'll call again tomorrow, if you'd like. Okay? I love you both._"

"We love you, too," Alex returned quietly. Rosie's face softened; she nodded towards the phone, as if her eldest brother could see her. "Bye, then."

The phone disconnected with a soft '_click_.'

"…you all right?" Rosalie asked sheepishly, apparently feeling guilty for her previous anger. The brunette shrugged, unhurriedly lowering the tacky receiver; placing it back in its equally tacky cradle. "You're not gonna get sick again, or anything?"

Alexander glowered. "No, I'm _not_," he snapped, cheeks coloring with mortified frustration. "Nor am I going to break like a doll!"

"Well, _sorry_," Rosie groused, pulling her knees to her chin. "We're just worried about you, is all. No need to bite our heads off. But you know, maybe if you stopped _fainting_…"

She trailed off, waiting for a response… but it never came. A beat; a sniffle. Curious, she shot Alex a sideways glance, spinning her chair in the direction of the door. Then, with a bite of her bottom lip, the girl spoke again. "You know," she mumbled, playing with her toes, "it's not that Edward isn't afraid. He's just trying to act strong for us, like he always has."

He nodded, shaky, but didn't pull away when Rosalie dropped a hand on his shoulder. A good sign.

"…I'm scared, too," Rosie admitted with an empty laugh, staring purposefully in the opposite direction. "It's okay to be scared—it doesn't make you weak. You just can't let that fear cloud your judgment. If Edward says he's gonna be okay, we've got to trust him. He's stubborn, but he's not stupid. If he needs our help, he'll let us know."

Alex let out a snuffled grunt of agreement. "I know…but…"

"Everything happens for a reason," Rosalie stated confidently, speaking before her brother could begin another guilt trip. "Even if it doesn't seem like it at first. Who knows? Maybe this is really a blessing in disguise."

The boy arched an eyebrow, casting his sister a flat stare. "How?"

For lack of anything better to say, Rosie simply smiled and shrugged. "We'll see, won't we?"

**X**

_March, 1931_

_Dear Al, _

_We've started to discuss leaving New York. _

Not seriously, I suppose, but the topic has arisen in conversation. We have nothing here—no jobs, no money, and… well, I suppose we have a home, but it's falling apart. Literally. True, it's better than some have it, but perhaps in the west we could do better. I admit, I'm afraid to try and "do better," but this isn't the Gate—this is America. And all we'd be doing was walking. (We can't even afford a damn carriage anymore, let alone a car or train ride. Yes, you were right again, Al, I should have counted my blessings when I had them.)

Of course, there are some hitches in this plan. One, the actual traveling. In Amestris it wasn't so bad, you being a giant suit of armor and me being savvy enough of an alchemist to transmute bread from grass when desperate. But what can we do here? We can't carry enough food to last for more than a few days, and we can't expect to run into towns whenever we'd need them. In the end, any attempt to travel without supplies, some mode of transportation, or at least a solid plan would be suicidal.

_And then there's Annya, who'd be coming with us. Because of this, any trip we'd take would need to last less than a month. Otherwise…well… _

Let's just say that I'm_ glad that I'm not a girl, but I wish that we knew someone around here who was. A year or so ago Annya started to go through… changes… that I know I shouldn't be embarrassed to talk about, being a scientist and all, but I am. Though in my defense, reading about menstruation as a topic in biology and dealing with a hormone-infused Annya are two entirely different things. _I _have no idea how to help her; _you_ have no idea what to do. In the end, all we ever do is cower in the corner and hope that she'll calm down._

_Thankfully, she can read English books now, and we've finally found a few at the library dealing with human anatomy and left her to it. We also managed to talk a female co-worker of yours, Al, into chatting with Annya, about… things that make my skin crawl to think about. _

_Needless to say, life has been interesting lately. I wonder if things will ever calm down? _

—Ed

**X**

As it turned out, they did see. And to Alex's great surprise, Rosalie seemed to know what she was talking about.

Or, at least, she was a very good guesser.

"Oh, hello, sweetie, welcome back. How was your day at school?" Mrs. Elric greeted distractedly the following Friday, slicing carrots with alarming precision. Alexander watched her progress for a moment— abnormally transfixed with the swift movement of the knife— then shrugged; picking up the small bundle of mail on the table and flipping through it. Bill, bill, magazine for Rosie, bill, advertisement…

"Same old, same old," the boy replied monotonously, shifting his backpack on his shoulder. "My English teacher is a close-minded jerk and my chemistry teacher insists that he's the next Newton…" Alex trailed off with a hum of interest, lifting a plain, manila envelope out of the pile. It had no address or stamp—it must have been hand delivered.

There were paint splotches on the corner…

The brunette's choked on a gasp, face lighting up. '_Ed…_' He hadn't seen his brother for days—he'd taken the past three off school. But he'd promised to be in contact… This must be it.

Excitement increasing exponentially, Alex slipped the packet into his uniform pocket, causally dropping the rest of the mail on the counter. His mother glanced up with a small smile.

"Anything good in there? Haven't had a chance to go through it, yet…"

"Nothing much, just the usual," Alexander returned in as flippant a manner as possible, but he was sure that his mom could hear his heart beat from across the kitchen. He tried to inch subtly towards the door, tightening his grip on his knapsack straps. "Anyhow, I best start my homework… I—uh— have a date with my girlfriend tonight."

Mrs. Elric's face lit up. "Your girlfriend—? Alex, that's wonderful!" she cheered, clapping her hands delightedly. Al simply flushed, looking away with a frown.

"Mom, please. Don't make a big deal about it," her son grumbled, edging out of the room. Before he could escape, Mrs. Elric opened her mouth— but Alex cut her off, hollering from the hall. "And no, I'm not bringing her in to meet the family. I'm meeting her at her place; sorry!"

Teri pouted, but Alexander wouldn't have cared even if he'd still been in the room to see it. Skittering down the hallway with enough force to bowl over a rhino, the brunette swung eagerly into his bedroom: throwing his bag aside, slamming the door shut, and scampering to the top bunk— where he'd begun sleeping the night Edward left. Then, with a growing grin and trembling hands, he retrieved the envelope and slit it open.

Two things fell out. First, a note.

Really, that was all it was—a note. Scribbled hastily on a little corner of sketchbook paper with a stray colored pencil. Aquamarine, it looked like.

_Al_, it read; and the familiar handwriting was almost enough to make Alex giddy, _sorry I haven't been at school; things have been crazy. Don't worry, I haven't been by myself—Lisa—and, all right, Todd, too— have been around. They've both helped a lot. But I'll tell you more about it, later. Why don't you come and visit me? You're welcome anytime. Love, Edward._

Alexander smiled, fingering the second item while he read— a small brass key. On its end, a keychain had been securely attached: silver, with an address scribbled in black sharpie marker. "East Central Apartments, number 361," the brunette read aloud, careful to keep his voice down. Wrinkling his nose, the teen mentally calculated the building's location—he'd heard of it before, of course; it was supposed to be a real dump. Not that it mattered to him… he wasn't going to enjoy the architectural design. "It should only be a half an hour walk from here," Alex mumbled with certainty, rolling onto his stomach and beaming at the tiny tokens—poking and toying idly as he whistled a nameless tune. When should he go? He didn't want to look too suspicious, suddenly running off… though his mother wouldn't care if he went to see Edward, his father certainly would. But perhaps—now that he'd fed Mom that lie—Dad would believe he was off to see a girl, too?

Alexander abruptly frowned, catching on to a bit of somewhat-unrelated irony. '_Hey… If he's the girl, how come **I'm **always on the bottom?_' he mused with a growing blush, twirling a lock of hair around his finger. Oh well, not that it mattered… though he supposed he could have a talk with Ed about that.

Speaking of…

The brunette sat up, pulling his grandfather's diary out from underneath Edward's pillow. Tapping it with a lazy finger, he traced the intricate design on the front, allowing his thoughts to drift.

He had to talk to Edward about Dad—and about all of the things he was learning about Grandpa. This was becoming too… involving to read by himself. With each new discovery that brought him closer to knowing the deceased Edward Elric, the more Alex realized how the events of his life shaped their lives, today. There had to be a reason for that…

But he could worry about it later, after he'd talked it over with Edward. As for now, he had a lot of getting ready to do: he had a _date_ to prepare for. Not the kind of date he'd told his mother about, true enough, but a date all the same…

And for once, he wasn't going to have to worry about their parents interrupting it.

In the back of his mind, Alex couldn't help but wonder if this arrangement might be a blessing in disguise, after all.

**X**

_September, 1931_

_Dear Al, _

_Ever since reading those books on anatomy, Annya has been looking at us oddly. You've noticed it, too, and tried to ask her about it; she just blushes and skitters away, singing to herself. I don't know why she's so jittery, or even what she's thinking about. She avoids our bedroom, though… _

_What's wrong with her? Is she just being a teenager? I wouldn't know; sex has always been a natural part of life, in my mind. (Though that doesn't mean I'm going to sit down and talk with _her _about it.) But there's definitely something clouding her thoughts. _

You don't think she's figured something out, do you? About us…

_I mean, none of those books talked about what we do alone (I made sure of it), and I can't think of anyone who'd mention it to her, so that seems incredibly unlikely. _

_Still, the thought makes me nervous. _

—Ed

**X**

"Humble abode" didn't even begin to describe Edward's apartment.

Alexander had been properly horrified to find that his brother's new home was not only on the outskirts of the city—where even the smallest of small towns have a good crop of dangerous folk— but that it was nearly crumbling before his eyes. Made of red bricks that creaked and groaned unpleasantly whenever the wind blew, the sides were covered in thick vines and graffiti: more support than the actual foundation provided, probably. And the security was nothing to brag about, either: the door wasn't even locked. Anyone could waltz on in… unless they were spotted by a tenant with a window and good aim.

But no matter how pathetic the outside was, the inside was by far worse. Ed's room was, of course, on the top floor—the third—at the very end of the dimly lit hallway. Every floorboard squealed in protest when you walked; the moldy green carpet strangely spongy beneath your feet. Alex had visions of falling through to lowering floors as he climbed the many steps. There was no elevator, though Alexander wouldn't have chanced it if there had been: you probably would have had to pull yourself up.

Then there was the flat itself. Alexander had knocked, rather than just use his key, in case his brother had been doing anything important. He wasn't, naturally—he'd probably just been waiting by the door, in case Alex decided to show up—and opened instantly, grinning widely.

The brunette was greeted by the ever-romantic question: "Is there food in that bag?"

There was, luckily— three cartons of Chinese which Alex had bought on his way over, in addition to any random canned or boxed good he could sneak out of the kitchen without arousing suspicion. Though he supposed he could always just say that it was for a school food drive, he was trying to save that excuse for when he got _caught_ taking food, not before. As Edward nosed hungrily through the sack (Alexander wondered if Lisa and Todd had been starving him for kicks), the younger boy peered nosily around the apartment, feeling his disapproval grow.

It was small. That was the first thing he noticed; it was very small, and divided into three rooms. The first was the largest, and the one a person walked into when entering. It was essentially a large square with hardwood flooring; a little half-wall raised to block off a small corner with a sink, an oven, and a mini refrigerator. That must count as a kitchen. The rest was probably supposed to be a living room, but Edward had transformed it into a make-shift studio. Boxes of paints, bottles of brushes, vats of colored pencils, stacks of canvases, and a few random easels cluttered the floor proudly, set upon hastily lain sheets. There were already puddles of wet paint staining the crisp whiteness, illuminated by the streetlights shining through the sliding glass door, which led to a balcony so small and rusty Alex wouldn't have trusted putting a house plant on it.

The second room was a bathroom—nearly as cramped as a closet, though somehow it managed to fit a toilet, sink, and shower. There was nothing else significant about the room, except that Ed needed to get himself a shower curtain.

Finally, there was—what Alex could only assume to be—the bedroom. It certainly wasn't anything special: a dirty window, a mattress, a quilt, and a picture. That was all. Most of the room was just empty space... kind of lonely, really. Out of place. The brunette pensively nibbled the inside of his cheek; noticed the picture with an arched eyebrow, padded carefully though the gloom (the lights were only muted glows), and lifted the frame from its place beside the mattress.

It was of them… him, and Edward, and Rosie, playing at the park. Alex smiled faintly, touching the cool glass with the tip of his finger, outlining their faces. When had they taken this, anyway? It couldn't have been that long ago… just a few weeks?

Did it really matter?

"Al…?"

Alexander gave a small jolt, glancing towards the door. Edward stood there, blinking curiously, holding up a fork and a spoon. "Which one do you want?" he asked, waving the two utensils back and forth. "I've only got one of each, sorry. Unless you were smart and stole some chopsticks?"

"When am I ever _not_ smart?" Alex smirked, setting the photo back beside the bed. If Ed cared that he'd been snooping, he didn't say anything. Rather, he laughed and gestured for his brother to follow.

"All right then, that problem's solved. Let's eat!"

**X**

_January, 1932_

_Dear Al, _

_Things are starting to look up again. We still don't have any steady work—nobody seems to—but we do have enough odd jobs to get by. In our free time, we've managed to catch up on some of the more complicated sciences of this world, and are starting to form theories of our own. It's fun; like when we were younger. _

Annya is beginning to calm down, too. After months of running into other rooms whenever we came near, she's begun to speak with us again—albeit rather shyly. You finally managed to talk her into telling us the matter was: apparently, she'd been embarrassed by some of the more graphic diagrams in the books, and horrified by the sex talk your co-worker had given her. She seemed under the impression that we were secretly longing to jump her bones and rape her, or something… but she'd finally leant to kick the stupidity out of herself. It's nice to be able to talk to her again—though I've noticed that her blushes have only intensified around boys. Secretly, I think she does it on purpose: I went to the market with her and got a discount because she smiled at the grocer. It didn't help that he was around her age and not bad looking.

Yes, she's a teenager. And people are beginning to notice.

I'd better keep an eye on all the young men in town.

—Ed

**X**

Edward dug some pillows out of one of the four boxes he'd stacked beside the door, kicking them so that they lined up against the half-wall separating the living room from the kitchen. It made an effective do-it-yourself couch, and the two lounged languidly on it, eating Chinese directly from the cartons for lack of any sort of dishware. They talked idly about the kids at school—how Edward would be even more popular, now that he had his own place (not that they were planning on mentioning it; it might raise questions)— and played immature games with their chopsticks: trying to steal bits of vegetable and meat from the other's box. All in all, Alex was having the best time he'd had in ages, and would have completely forgotten the other, more pressing matters he'd wanted to discuss with his brother if it hadn't been for Ed's casual inquisition of: "So why'd you bring Grandpa's diary with you?"

The blonde jabbed at the little black book with his utensils; Alex glanced over at its resting place in the plastic bag with a small noise of surprise. "Huh…? Oh yeah," Alexander grinned sardonically, jabbing some broccoli at the bottom of his carton. Edward nabbed it with a chuckle of triumph, only slightly deterred when his brother retaliated by stealing a slice of beef. "That was to remind me of what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Mmm?" Ed chewed his pinched prize with an arched eyebrow, swallowing. "What about?"

Alex didn't reply for a moment or two, instead poking at the shared box of white rice. "…I talked to mom a few days ago," he finally confessed; slowly, struggling to figure out how he wanted to word this. "And she told me something… kind of disturbing, really."

Edward waited patiently for his younger sibling to continue, though his eyes glittered with inquisitiveness.

"It…uh, it turns out," Alexander coughed, coloring a bit—though he really wasn't sure why— "that Dad has read Grandpa's diary, too. When he was younger."

The older boy's chopsticks fell to the ground with a clatter. Alex glanced up at him with a small smile, not surprised to see the expression of pure shock on his lover's face. "Woah—wait," Edward choked, holding up a hand. "Dad? _Our_ homophobic Dad? He read Grandpa Elric's journal—the one who was hot for his brother— and Dad didn't _disown_ him?" Ed paused, as if wondering how that would work, but in the end just shook his head. "That makes no sense. Dad loved Grandpa; we never would have known of his **existence** if Dad _really_ knew he was gay, let alone into incest."

"That's what I thought," Alex nodded profusely, driving holes into a soggy carrot. "Though what struck _me_ as the weirdest is that he'd name **you** after Grandpa. If he really knew, that is. But…" The brunette hesitated, pushing himself off of his stomach and sitting up straight. "But if he _did_ know, that would explain a lot, wouldn't it? Why he's so afraid of gays and all, I mean. He's practically terrified—he won't even talk about you at home, anymore. I've seen homophobes before, but he really _is_ the worst… Mom says that's why."

Ed considered this with a tilt of his head, propping an elbow up on one raised knee as he gazed off into the distance. "…I dunno," he eventually replied, sounding unconvinced. "That makes sense, but there could be a lot of other reasons for his actions. Heck, I've met homophobes who are just as bad as Dad for no reason at all. And let's be honest—Mom isn't exactly known for her…er…brain skills, shall we say." He lifted an eyebrow at Alexander when he glared. "C'mon Al, you know it's true. I love her to pieces, but she's a bit of an air head."

"...all right, yeah," Alex conceded after a minute or two, allowing a tiny grin to shape his face. "I just thought… you know, it might be true. And if it was, it would certainly answer some unasked questions."

"Well, it may _still_ be true," Edward retorted with a shrug. "I just don't think you've got the whole story… or, at least, there are pieces missing. But what does it matter, anyway? It wouldn't change anything."

"No, it wouldn't," the brunette agreed, tossing aside his crumpled carton and slapping invisible dust from his hands. "But it's one of those things that I just wanna know." He paused; turned towards his brother with a look of mock irritation. "Speaking of things I 'just wanna know'…" he continued in a whole different tone of voice—a change that wasn't lost on Edward. The blonde glanced up with a blink of surprise, smiling when Alex crawled over and draped himself over his brother's side. "If you're _my_ girlfriend, how come _I'm_ always on the bottom? Can't I be on top?"

Ed smirked, ruffling Alexander's hair with an impish little snicker. "You? No way! You're way too small."

An auburn eyebrow gave a dangerous tic.

"**_SMALL_**?"

Alex glowered, elbowing his elder sibling's side purposefully. Edward laughed, grabbing the brunette's wrists and pulling him down into a hug. "I am NOT small—!" the younger boy groused all the while, though it was only half-hearted. "You're just way too tall… 's not _my_ fault you're a freaking **giant**…" Regardless, he cuddled into his sibling's chest, sighing happily into the well-known warmth.

They sat like that for a while, holding one another: Ed hugging his brother as if he were some sort of teddy bear; Alex clinging urgently, pulling all the closer, as if Edward might float away. His long fingers clutched desperate handfuls of the loose white muscle shirt his brother wore—it clearly wasn't Edward's, since it wasn't smeared with art supplies, but he had been wearing it long enough for it to pick up his scent… eraser crumbs and soap and cigarettes and some spicy, unnamed cologne. It hadn't even been a full week, but Alex had missed that smell so much he nearly started to cry. But he caught himself in time; choosing instead to leer and breathe:

"…I still think I should have a chance to be on top."

Edward's chuckles rumbled through his body like an oncoming train. Alex blushed, loving the feel of it beneath his cheek... "Is that so?" his brother purred, kissing the tip of his ear; grinning when his sibling squeaked. "Well then… how about this? When you can wrestle the position from me, I'll let you have a go."

Alexander scowled, pulling back just enough to weakly glare at his lover. "Not fair; you always win at wrestling!" A fact of which Ed was obviously aware.

The blonde gave a sunny smile, as if only just remembering this. "Oh _yeah_… well then, you'd better start practicing. Or else you'll have to wait until I'm old and decrepit. Or dead. You know, which ever comes first."

A beat.

"…That's _sick_," Alex stated flatly, sticking out his tongue as he wrapped his arms around Edward's neck. "Sex when we're old and decrepit? Ew." He grinned toothily, his knees spreading to straddle his brother's waist. "I guess that means I'll just have to try harder to beat you."

Ed smirked, hands sliding to cup Alexander's hips; fingers ghosting beneath the hem of his jeans. "I take it you want to start practicing now?"

Alex thought that the best **verbal** response to that incredibly stupid question would be the phrase "uh, _duh_," but in the end opted to forgo words all together: kissing Edward deeply.

And though in the end he lost the match, Alexander had a very good time playing the game.

**X**

_April, 1932_

_Dear Al, _

_Annya asked why neither of us have girlfriends._

_On the one hand, it was amusing to see you choke on potatoes—as she asked during dinner, of course—; on the other, it was horrifying… as we had no idea what to say. _

_I guess it was an inevitable question, what with all of the things she'd been learning, lately; natural for her to wonder why she never sees us with girls, when guys are supposed to want to touch up every inch of them. But we still hadn't bothered to plan far enough ahead to counter such an innocent inquisition. We'd never even thought of it. _

_I think it was you who came up with an answer first—something along the lines of "we haven't met anyone we really like, yet." Annya looked doubtful, mentioning all of the girls we happen to know and saying how it was impossible to not like _any_ of them. I was the one who explained that there are different kinds of love, and that we didn't love any of them in That Way. She considered this. Then she asked: "How do you love me?" _

We assured her that we loved her very much, in 'best friend' and 'fatherly' sort of ways. She nodded, chewed, and tapped the prongs of her fork against her frown. "…How do you love each other?"

Both of us paled, but you, at least, managed to keep on a smile. I believe your exact response was: "Well, Annya, it's complicated…we're brothers, so I guess the only way to describe it is a 'brotherly' love."

_Annya nodded, though continued to look preoccupied. Still, I thought the conversation was over, and we carried on as if nothing had happened. But later that night, Al, once you'd gone to sleep, and I was reading on the couch, she came and stood in front of me—all scowls and curls and white cotton nightgown. _

My heart stopped when she spoke.

"_I do not believe you." _

_Of course I told her I had no idea what she was talking about, but I did. Not that it mattered, because she pressed on, anyway. _

"_I know what the noises are, now. In your bedroom, late at night. I spoke to Alphonse's coworker, Gretchen, about the strange noises I sometimes hear… she told me that you must be sneaking women into the house. I asked her why, and she told me. But I know that you are not sneaking women in. I would have seen them. Only you and Alphonse are in there. And the noises are both… So you must be…" _

_She colored, glaring furiously through her tears. I simply gawked, trying to summon up enough mock disbelief to discourage her. But I couldn't. I couldn't even blink. "It is wrong, Edward," she told me bluntly, hands trembling as she gripped her nightdress. "It is wrong to… brothers do not… it is not fair! Alphonse has to love you in a brotherly way, you have to love Alphonse in a brotherly way; it is not fair that either of you should love in another way, too! It is not _right_… it is not fair…"_

_Annya looked at me as if I were scum. And for a moment, I felt like I was. But did she honestly think I hadn't considered all of this before? I sighed and sat her down in my lap, hugging her like I used to when she'd had a nightmare. She didn't seem to appreciate the embrace, at first— struggled and wriggled and pushed against me—but soon she was crying and hugging me closer, even though she kept sobbing accusations of revulsion and fear: "I hate you… I hate him… it is not right… I hate you!"_

_I don't really blame her. _

—Ed

**X**

The back door creaked softly open.

And thought Rosalie certainly wasn't surprised, Alexander was—nearly jumping a mile when he saw his little sister sitting at the table, watching his quiet attempts to sneak in with dull eyes. "Crud—!" he hissed, clutching his shirt where his heart would be, spinning away with a deep breath. "Geez, Rosie!" Alex yelped in a whisper, attempting to regain his composure. "Trying to give me a heart attack?"

"No," Rosalie drawled, still not moving an inch—though her smirk was unfurling at an alarming rate. "But if you'd come home on time…"

"I _was_ home on time," the boy griped quietly, catching immediately on to the irony of the situation. "I was on the front porch with Edward. He walked me back. You can ask him."

The blonde cast her brother a dry look. "…on the front porch. Since eleven?"

Alex blushed brightly, lacing and unlacing his fingers; avoiding Rosie's eyes. "We…um… did a lot of talking."

"I'm sure."

"Hey, we did," he interjected—though still glowing a bright shade of magenta. With a small smile, he pulled up a chair and straddled it, resting his arms on the back. "Communication is key in a relationship, you know…"

"But you also spent a little time making out," Rosie finished, flipping her braid over her shoulder as she tilted back in her seat, clearly amused. Taking a measured sip from the mug of hot chocolate in her hands, the teen girl propped her feet up on the table. "You know," she then said conversationally, in a voice which was deceptively innocent, "Daddy dearest would blow a freakin' gasket if he knew where you've been sneaking off to for—hell, this is the ninth night, isn't it?"

"Thirteenth."

She quirked an eyebrow.

"Not in a row," Alex protested feebly, as if in some attempt to salvage dignity. He didn't even bother asking how Rosalie knew of his exploits. Heck, he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know. "But—you're not going to tell him, are you?"

A stab of sheer panic tore at his insides, face draining of any color at all. The mere thought—it made him want to throw up, or shrivel up, or vanish.

Rosie snorted. "_Please_," she snapped, as if he had offended her. "Because I'm _such_ a goody-two shoes. Really, Alex, show a little faith in me, won't you?"

Alexander flushed a second time, muttering an apology. "Sorry, I'm just… a little on edge, I guess," he admitted, yanking a stray lock of his hair. He noticed with dismay that a clump of it had been dragged through a pool of blue paint at some point, hardening without his notice. '_Great, I'll need to take another 2 AM shower…_' Mom was going to be thrilled. "I'm not used to sneaking around…"

"Oh, don't worry," Rosalie chirped, blowing on her steaming drink with a chipper beam. "You get used to it really fast!"

"…that's not very comforting, Rosie," Alex drawled, but couldn't keep a tiny grin off of his face. In afterthought, however, he frowned: piercing his little sister with a strange look. "What're you still doing up, anyway?"

"Huh? Oh…" Rosalie smiled brightly, but he thought it looked a little fake. "Some friends from the anime and manga club and I went out. We got back kinda late, and I figured you'd be waiting up to yell at me, but when you weren't here… well, I thought I'd have some fun."

Alexander's brow furrowed, giving his sister a measured once-over. "…didn't you have a date with Amy tonight?" he asked cautiously, not wanting to let her know that he'd been peaking at her planner; trying to sneak off when she wasn't around… so as to avoid circumstances like this, as luck would have it. But Rosie merely shrugged, smile not slipping an inch.

"Yeah, she was there, too," the girl assured, tracing the rim of her cup with a recently painted fingernail. This week they were violet with black sparkles.

The brunette shot her an inquisitive glance, but Rosalie didn't expand. Instead, she sat her drink down on an oversized saucer and yawned. "Anyway, I'm beat," she announced, standing with a jangle of bracelets and china. "I'm gonna go to bed… I just wanted to see your face when I caught you sneaking in, you naughty boy."

With a wink and a giggle she vanished into the darkness, gliding down the hardwood hallways as if she were an ice skater. Alex watched her go with a small frown, sure something was wrong… but in the end shook it off, knowing it would be pointless to try and squeeze anything out of Rosie. She was probably just mad at someone for "stealing her style" again, or something.

Knowing Rosalie would get into trouble for leaving a mess in the kitchen, Alex stood and cleared her dishes, wiping off the counter as he let his mind wander in reverse, mulling cheerfully over the past few hours he'd spent with Edward. It was becoming something of a tradition: he'd sneak over (telling his parents he was off to see his girlfriend), they'd talk and goof off, discuss their friends and family, eat whatever food Alexander felt like bringing, and then Alex—if he felt like it, anyway—would "attempt to establish his authority." He had yet to win, but it was sure fun trying.

Alexander grinned, hiding his pink face with his hair. He rarely bothered with a pony tail anymore… at least when he was going to Ed's flat. He'd just lose the hair tie.

Chuckling to himself, the teen boy tossed the washcloth he'd fished out of a side drawer into the sink, letting it dry. Then, stretching merrily, he made his way to his bedroom; pondering possible activities that could help him unwind. After all, he was much too awake to even _think_ about sleep, let alone try to achieve such a state. '_Maybe I'll read some of Grandpa's diary,_' he thought happily, hopping up onto the top bunk and kicking off his shoes. It'd been a while since he'd last opened it, being so busy with… other things.

With a cheerful hum, Alex rolled onto his stomach; propping his chin in his palms as he reached under Edward's old pillow, pulling out the journal and flipping it open.

**X**

_June, 1932_

_I'm not sure how it happened. _

_Like every disaster in our lives, I'm certain there were multiple steps to bring us here—steps that I could trace back to a single factor; a reason or motive. But I don't know if I even want to bother trying to figure it out, now…what good would it do me?_

_What good would it do any of us? _

I don't think Annya understands. She believes she does, but…how can we truly explain our bond to her? Explain our history? Explain our love? Especially after she's poured her heart and soul into…

_She told you that she loves you, Al._

_I don't know when or how the conversation started; I'd been at work. I could hear the two of you arguing from the lobby four stories down, though. Annya screaming, you frantically countering: begging, even. It didn't bother me, at first—I couldn't really understand what the discussion was about. I assumed it was over what Annya was making for dinner. (She has the tendency to experiment.) But when I opened the door… _

"**Why** can you not love me back?" _Annya was sobbing, pulling on your sleeve. She's petite; admittedly smaller than I am— she only comes up to your forearm, even at 17. You were trying to gently pry her away as she cried, clasping her shoulders in a brotherly way; explaining yourself for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. Your response was something along the lines of "I love you, Annya, but not the way you want me to. It's not fair of me to—" _

"_Do not tell me what is and is not fair!" she bawled, glowering angrily through tears and rubbed-raw eyes. "What is not fair is that Edward should have you, when you are already his brother! **That** is not fair! Nor is it right! Alphonse— I love you. I want to be your wife…!" _

_You shot her a pained look, backing away and waving your hands in protest. But you didn't watch where you were going, and ended up running into me—standing stock still in the open doorway. _

_Annya gazed up at me, positively horrified, and took a step back… as if I were some sort of monster. On the other hand, Al, you looked up at me as if I were some sort of savior. I didn't know what I thought of myself as... All I knew was that something had to happen; something had to be settled. It'd been like a dam, before, collecting water…but the topic was about to break through the unspoken barriers, surging through with enough force to tear us all apart. Annya wasn't going to let this go… things were just going to get worse. Questions would be asked… More questions, rather—they'd already begun to notice, thanks to Annya's plaintive pointing, that neither you nor I had any close female friends. Except Annya. Though many assumed you and she were already engaged. _

_She made a point never to correct them. _

_Maybe I should have noticed then._

_I'm not really sure what happened next. I think I dragged you away, without a word, slamming the door to our bedroom shut behind us. Annya screeched obscenities behind us in Russian, but I ignored them—sitting you on the edge of the bed and kneeling in front of you. _

You stared at me as if I'd lost my mind.

Then I spoke, and you began questioning_ the whereabouts of my mind. _

"_She's right." _

_That's all I said. And you looked as if those two words had been the worst curse you'd ever heard in your life. You asked me if I was crazy, of course; looked like you were about to cry, yourself. I quickly placated you— wrapping my arms around your middle and holding you close. I wondered, vaguely, what the fuck I was doing…but every part of me knew that what I was doing was right. In the long run, for the most people, anyway… Never for me. And as I contemplated my stupidity for doing this, I said: "She's right. We knew this couldn't go on forever, Al. People just… people just don't understand. And they never will, you know?" _

"_What does _that_ matter?" you retorted coldly, definitely trembling now. "Other people have never mattered before!" _

I conceded that was true, but reminded you that we're stuck here, now, in a world where we're not special or famous—we don't get any breaks, anymore. We have to act like common people if we want to live for ourselves, live like we never got to in Amestris. It's Equivalent Exchange.

_You told me that you'd rather be different; what was the point of living like we never got to in Amestris when the only thing you wanted was me? I bopped you on the head and assured you that you weren't getting rid of me that easily—I'd stick around whether you wanted me to or not. _

_But… "You have to marry Annya." _

You didn't want to hear of it. You didn't even want to consider it. I tried to talk you into it nicely; promising that everything was going to be fine and exciting and didn't you always want kids? But you wouldn't stop shaking your head, quivering as tears slipped down your face. Whatever I said, you countered acidly—our argument rising in volume and fury until I finally gave a frustrated cry and…

_And broke down. I was crying as well, for the first time in years; burying my face into your chest and whispering the words I swore I wouldn't: "Al… she'll _tell_. She'll ruin everything for us. You _have_ to. We don't have a choice anymore._"

_You didn't speak for a moment—your tremors stopped. Then you pulled me as close as you possibly could, kissing me for all you were worth… _

_Later, when we emerged from our room, Annya was standing there—staring blankly at where the door had been only seconds before, eyes slightly glazed. She looked up at you, expressionless. _

And I knew.

_  
She'd heard every word. _

You proposed to her on the spot—trying to smile, trying to pretend that this was what you wanted. Nobody was fooled; nobody tried to act like they were. And for a moment, we thought that Annya might relent. We thought that she might release you, since she knew you couldn't really give her what she wanted, this time.

…_But no. _

When you asked, she said yes.

Congratulations, Al.

—Ed

**X**

Alexander didn't realize he'd stopped breathing until his world began to spin, strangely fuzzy. Bolting upright and shaking his head to clear it, he read the faded entry three times through. "_No way_…" he gaped after the third time; insides vanishing as understanding turned his brain into frozen mush.

But it all made sense—now, anyway. He'd found the missing link Edward was talking about… Why Benjamin was so afraid, why he hated gays, but still had some degree of respect for his father.

"Because Edward Elric _wasn't_ his father," Alex whispered, utterly and completely stunned. "_Alphonse_ Elric was."

And knowledge like _that_ could tear a child's whole world to pieces.

**X**

_September, 1932_

_Dear Al, _

_You got married today. _

—Ed

**XXX**

_Woah! PLOT TWIST! X3_

_Hope you all enjoyed. And yeah, I know Benjamin's fear/past has not been adequately explained yet—don't worry, it'll happen soon. _

_In any case, I hope you enjoyed… especially that bit I threw in for the people involved in the Alex Topping Campaign. (You guys rock. XD) _

_Well, that's all for now. Hopefully chapter eight will be out, soon. Until then, thanks for reading:D  
_

_PS. Bonus points for anyone who can figure out why Edward's apartment number is what it is. X3_


	8. Letter Eight

_Disclaimer: I've got a headache… _

Author's Note: Wow, let' see… what to say?

One, thank you for the awesome responses to last chapter! XD I'm still completely blown away by all the kind things you guys have to say (especially after having re-read some of the older chapters myself; God, chapters 1 & 2 BIT HORRIBLY! (sobs) Edward and Alex were still so 2D as characters… (smacks herself))… thank you so much! (Blush) I hope that y'all continue to enjoy—though we're getting frighteningly close to the end. O.O (I know; horrifying, isn't it?)

Two, the riddle behind Ed's apartment number… a lot of you guys got close—some of you even solved it. YEA! I'm impressed! And to be honest, the reason all of you didn't get it is because I was stupid… I forgot that I have a weird cell phone. Anyway, the joke was that the numbers 3, 6, and 1 are also the letters F, M, and A on the buttons of a phone. (Or my cell phone, anyway. Like I said, I forgot that most phones' alphabet starts on 2.) So 361FMA. (Though to be honest, I liked the ENA answer, better. X3)

_Finally, someone mentioned how they thought Ed Sr. was a little OOC by forcing Al to marry Annya. A valid observation; I partially agree. And originally, that scene was going to be written with the boys on opposite sides—Al was going to be arguing why HE should be the one to marry Annya, rather than Ed, because he never got to shoulder any of their burdens back in Amestris. But it didn't work out that way, because Annya's not interested in marrying Ed: she wants to marry Al. (Make any sense?) With that in mind, Ed's argument was founded on two basic ideas. The first being that Annya is stubborn (and yes, a little spoiled). Even if Ed tried to marry her himself to "save" Al, she wouldn't hear of it. They'd get no where. The second idea upon which Ed based his argument is that incest is wrong. He knows it, and even though that hasn't stopped him and Al from doing naughty things before, he will always feel partially guilty for it. That's just the way Ed is. Therefore, he sees this as an opportunity to do what's "right" (if you consider, as most do, incest "wrong") and make things "normal" for his little brother, who never got to be normal in Amestris._

_Everything make sense now? Yes…? Good! _

In that case, off we go to unravel more mysteries… (oooooo)! XD

(WARNING: This chapter touches back on things mentioned waaaay earlier, so you might need to review! (dances))

Enjoy:3

PS. Rawr, this chapter was a bitch to write and edit! Thanks to my lovely Skeletons beta, Su-chan, for not sugar-coating my hideous mistakes, even when I threw a tantrum. ;)

**XXX **

X

X

X

Grandpa was a cynical man, at best.

Not to say that he was _unpleasant_— he was lovable, in his own special way. I enjoyed spending time with him, and he with us. I can fondly recall many pleasant outings: days at the park spent playing on the swings and eating ice cream. He'd teach us simple biology and old lullabies; and, of course, there were hundreds of stories to stuff those lazy summer hours with. How he loved retelling those tales; loved to bask in our unending supply of childish adoration; loved to laugh with us.

Yes, Grandpa Elric _liked_ laughing.

…He just didn't have much to laugh about.

I didn't know him like most did, I suppose. After all, whenever he was with us, he was happy… But in the present of other adults, he was bitter and pessimistic—always frowning, always grousing; he always saw the worst in people and situations. Grandpa was… closed, I guess is the word for it. Cold and quiet and hard as a rock. It was like there was some sort of shell around him: a barrier that helped him keep face.

But sometimes that face shone through.

Alex got sick a lot when he was small. No particular reason why, he's just one of those kids who inadvertently attracts every bug and germ and virus that could possibly do them any sort of harm. Because of this, it wasn't that unusual to see him shuffling through the house in footie pajamas, flushed and clammy and hacking up a storm as he wobbled around with Bunny in tow.

Rosie and I got used to it.

Grandpa never did.

He didn't come over much when Al was ill—you could tell that the sight unnerved him. Heck, the sound of _coughing_ unnerved him. Anything that could possibly be equated to sickness made him tremble; his face would grow pale and his eyes would get glassy… and he'd cry. Not publicly, of course, but…

I saw him, once: saw him sitting by Alex's bed, watching him sleep as tears slipped silently down his leathery cheeks. He briefly touched Al's hand, then pulled away—standing and brushing past me without a word. I only remember this because the sight horrified me; I thought Grandpa might be broken.

And maybe he was.

Grandpa Elric hated illness. I think he'd learnt it meant "goodbye."

**X **

X

X

**XXX **

Skeletons

XXX

Alexander stared at the open diary for over an hour, mind whirling with questions and strange realizations. '_Dad's father was Alphonse Elric, _not_ Edward Elric,_' he repeated mentally, though the words still sounded foreign. They probably always would. _'That means that our biological grandfather was really Alphonse; Edward was our great-uncle. But… but why? If Grandpa wasn't really Dad's father, why did he portray himself as such? Why did Dad act as if he were? Did they _always_…?_'

Drumming his fingers rhythmically against his forearm, Alex thought back as far as he could, trying to recollect some slip in their performance—but no: every Christmas, every birthday, every family vacation had been spent as if Edward Elric Sr. was really Benjamin Elric's dad, and Alphonse Elric—

Alphonse Elric…

The brunette frowned. Outside of the journal, he'd never even _heard_ of Alphonse Elric. Which, all things considered, wasn't very surprising: if Dad had really known what the two brothers had done in private, he'd certainly have chosen to erase all remnants of his biological father. But what didn't make sense was that Edward Elric hadn't received the same treatment. Heck, he'd gotten the opposite: he'd been _honored_. Alex had been told from an early age that his father had named Edward, and his mother had selected 'Alexander.' Then, when Rosie came along, they had collaborated for reasons of fairness. So why had Benjamin chosen to name his first born after his gay, incestuous uncle?

Unless…

The boy rolled over, gazing blankly at the ceiling. '_It shocked Dad to find out that Grandpa wasn't his father… so Grandpa must have been raising him. He probably didn't even _know_ about Al. But then, what happened to Alphonse Elric? And why…?_'

"Why…" Alexander whispered, eyelids growing increasingly heavier, "why does Dad ignore his existence…?"

Those were questions even the diary couldn't answer.

He'd have to ask Benjamin himself.

**X**

_August, 1934_

_Dear Al, _

_I don't know how we're going to make this work. It's almost been two years, and I still have no idea. You and I, you and her… it's like a battleground. _

Because you refuse to let me go.

_Don't get me wrong, Al—I nearly cried with happiness the first night you snuck into my bed, holding me and kissing me as if nothing had changed. But Annya, if nothing else, is as stubborn as we are, and refuses point blank to surrender you to me. And now that you're married, you're contractually obliged to play the part of husband whenever she's awake, or anyone else is around. Not to say that you do so whole-heartedly, but you do love her and try your best to pacify her. _

_She returns the courtesy by not killing me in my sleep. _

_Needless to say, Annya and I don't talk much, anymore; on good days, we'll have a polite conversation about something as inconsequential as the weather. On bad days, we'll ignore each other entirely and talk only to you. Sometimes you take her side on matters, other times you take mine… but regardless, once night has fallen and you've made a show of going to bed with her, you sneak out and join me instead. You say you can't sleep, otherwise. And your wife pretends to believe it, just like she pretends not to hear the noises we make in my bedroom. Just like _I _pretend not to hear the noises the two of you make in her bedroom on the rare occasion—generally her birthday—that you submit to her._

_Nobody's happy; whenever two are, the other isn't, dragging all three of us into a deep depression. It may be fine and dandy on the outside, but on the inside we're cultivating little seeds of abhorrence and distaste and irritation…_

_It's like having a picnic in a minefield. We dislike it, but we keep going back. And we will probably continue to do so, until one of us steps on a bomb._

_I don't know what else to do; I can't think of how else to get by. I hate the tension, but I hate the thought of leaving you—or never seeing you again—even more. I don't want her to suffer, but _I_ don't want to suffer, either. And you, Al, have made it perfectly clear that you'd fall apart without me around… even though you don't want to upset Annya._

_It's not fair, not to any of us. _

_But I suppose life never is, is it? _

—Ed

**X**

There was, of course, the problem of actually _talking_ to Benjamin.

Alexander frowned pensively, sinking deep into the living room loveseat; watching his father read the newspaper from over the pages of a random magazine he'd snatched off the coffee table. It was quite the conundrum, really: how on earth could he bring up the topic of parentage without sounding… well, suspicious? He certainly didn't want to explain to his father that he knew about the diary, particularly after seeing how he'd reacted to Edward Jr.'s 'enlightening' announcement. What would Dad say if he realized both of his sons knew his dark and dirty secret? Hell— that they were practically reliving it?

'_They say that those who do not know history are condemned to repeat it,_' Alex thought dryly, flipping through the glossy pages of whatever it was he was pretending to read, '_but clearly, that doesn't always do the trick._' Not that Benjamin wasn't _trying_ to keep the past from reoccurring, he just didn't comprehend the extent of the damage being done; didn't realize that his world was collapsing beneath his feet.

Alexander almost felt sorry for him— but his anger over Edward's swift exile kept him from feeling too sympathetic.

'_Ed..._'

The brunette scowled, pulling his knees to his chin and curling his toes in irritation at the memory. Edward had been living on his own for nearly a month, now—content and cheerful and working his hardest to make ends meet. He was doing relatively well, considering the circumstances, but that didn't mean Alex could forgive his father for what he'd done. Homophobic or not, Edward was his _son_… how could he kick him out so heartlessly? How could he continue to disregard him? The Elric children couldn't even say their oldest brother's _name_ anymore without being glared at.

This made the task of excavating information all the more difficult. After all, it was one thing to mention the forbidden name "Edward,"— a person Dad was purposefully ignoring, but everyone was aware of. It was quite another to mention "Alphonse"—a person Dad was purposefully ignoring, but no one else knew existed. No one else but Alexander… who wasn't even supposed to be reading this diary, anyway.

How does a criminal trick a police officer into sharing classified information without admitting to the crime?

Alex, never having been a felon before, wasn't sure. But he was determined to find out… if not for his own sake, for his Grandfather's. Edward Elric Sr. deserved to be understood, if only by one person; if only a decade after his death.

"Alex?"

The teen jolted upright— more startled than he cared to admit—tilting his chin to look into Rosie's inquiring face. He forcefully shaped his mouth into a cautious smile. "Uh, yeah…?"

Rosalie arched an eyebrow, biting her bottom lip; wearing an expression that implied she'd missed the joke. "Why're you reading my _Cosmo_…?" she asked slowly, careful to keep her voice down. The last thing either needed was their father noticing anything he might consider "odd." "I mean, to each their own, but even _I_ find it rather—"

What she found it, however, was lost in the sound of her brother's flustered squeak. Rosie smiled faintly, watching the magazine fly across the room. "Yeah, something like that," she drawled, unable to keep a hint of amusement out of her retort. Shrugging, the girl marched over to the TV set and plucked the publication off the ground. "Anyway, Alex, Mom and I are going to the grocery store. You wanna come, if you're bored? I bet we could talk Mom into buying some muffins or something."

Alexander grinned, but he knew it must look strained. "No, thanks," he said as dismissively as possible, waving a hand and trying to keep the pain in his gut out of his voice. At the same time, he knew he was being stupid—he couldn't avoid every place he'd ever been to with Edward; it wasn't healthy. Even Ed would tell him to get a life… but it still hurt to be reminded of his brother: the brother he couldn't even talk about anymore, and had to sneak around to see. It was annoying, it was frustrating, and it _hurt_, dammit. "I… uh, think I'm going to go see if any of my friends are home."

Rosie watched him stand and dust himself off with an odd expression on her face—an expression which suggested that she didn't quite believe him. Alex didn't know why; what had she expected him to say? Whatever it was, it would have to remain a mystery: she chose to shrug instead of press for information. Then, as if nothing had passed between them, she cupped her hands around her mouth and called loudly: "Bye, Daddy! We're off to the store. _Blink twice if you heard me_!"

Benjamin gave a start, paper rustling as he lowered it. "Er—pardon?" he blinked, looking a bit disorientated; eyes clearing of thoughts. "Sorry, I was… um, what was that again?"

As his sister repeated herself, evidently exasperated, Alexander began to wander: feet taking him no where in particular, though apparently with a specific destination in mind. He shuffled, hunched and broody… only to discover that the destination his body had in mind was the front porch: his glider creaking forlornly in the brisk autumn wind.

The brunette felt the ghost of a smile tug on his lips; it'd been a while since he'd last sat out here… '_I guess I've been busy,_' he mused, easing gingerly onto the edge of the cushioned seat.

It was cold and damp— the remnants of clinging dew and rain soaked through the back of his pants. Around him, the shrubs and grasses looked like sticks of cinder; gray trees tearing at the cloud-covered sky with their bare, scraggly arms. They groaned in the breeze, the sound echoing over otherwise-silent hills. But though the heavens were a dark slate, the ground was a bright, vivid green: spotted with wet brown leaves that tried vainly to dance on air.

"When did fall get here?" Alex asked himself with a tiny grin, touching a socked foot to the ground. The swing began to move slowly: back… forth… back… forth… And soon he felt himself relaxing, closing his eyes; the words of his mother's old lullaby inevitably popping into his head.

But there wasn't time for that now.

The teen leaned back in his seat, idly twisting his long hair into a braid as he contemplated his problem. A way to make Benjamin confess to his past without admitting he already knew part of it… "Maybe I should just flat-out ask him," Alexander heard himself mumble, eyes flicking lazily over the scenery. Ben had acted rather spacey when talking to Rosie; perhaps he wouldn't notice if Alex said anything strange.

Yeah, right.

'_I could try saying it's for a family history project,_' the brunette mused, but rejected the idea almost instantly. Rosalie had done a project like that in 8th grade; he'd be told exactly what she had: "Go ask your mother." A response that, at the time, had struck the Elric children as 'lazy'—now it sounded suspicious.

Alex blew out his cheeks, watching the clouds darken, rumbling ominously. Well, it did look like rain… The teen stood with a stretch and a sigh, moving towards the front door. '_Maybe I can ambush Dad while—_'

_Crash!_

Alexander choked on a gasp, clutching his racing heart. _That_ had come from no where… '_Geez,_' he shivered, taking a deep breath.'_Stupid thun—!_'

…wait.

That hadn't been thunder; couldn't have been thunder. Unless thunder was now being produced in their garage.

The boy frowned, nonplused and curious, inching away from the door and towards the edge of the porch. Leaning out and around the corner of the house, he glanced towards the garage window, squinting. It was dark, but there was definitely movement inside. Rapid movement. And muted swearing. "Dad…?" Alex whispered, stunned. What in God's name was he doing?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

**X**

_March, 1941_

_Dear Al, _

_A lot has happened since I last wrote. I won't get into politics, as I would probably run out of ink before I ran out of things to say. However, I will comment on the more personal side of things. For starters, we finally moved out of New York. Back in 1939, actually. After years of saving and quite a bit of luck, we managed to catch a train to Chicago, where we're now residing. We live in another apartment; it's not much better than the one in New York, but it's enough. It's very pretty: you can see the lake through the window; the sunrises and sunsets make the most beautiful colors off the water._

_We also got a new cat. As always, it was a stray from the street that you just "couldn't live without." You named him Midnight, and he likes to get into everything. But he keeps the mice in check, so I guess he's all right. _

_As for work, you wrangled yourself a job at the library. From what I understand, your main duties are to sort books, put them on the shelves, and to keep the card catalog organized. You seem to like it— a lot— as it gives you access to any book that you could ever hope to read, and a chance to talk to well-educated people. I, on the other hand, found an occupation at the local museum. At first I just gave tours and dusted off antiques, but now I have an office job where I organize and oversee new exhibits. It's not what I thought I'd be doing, but I don't dislike it. And together, we make enough to scrape a living. _

_Annya contributes where she can, as she always has: cleaning the house, making meals, and recently she's begun sewing blankets out of old clothes, selling them for as much as she can convince people to part with. On good days, she can coax as much as $4 out of some of our more wealthy acquaintances. So we're doing all right. _

_Financially, anyway. Though I suppose I can't complain about the emotional side of things, either, considering. _

_You and I are still going as strong as ever, though secretly. I know it hurts Annya, and I'm sorry, but I can't help it. Neither can you. We've just… we've just been through too much together to let one girl tear us apart, no matter _what_ the stakes. For her part, Annya takes it well—purses her lips and glowers, but rarely throws tantrums anymore. She even talks to me, once in a while; sometimes we'll find ourselves laughing like we used to. Of course, she'll soon catch herself and leave—but still it's progress. In return, you and I act like the brothers we were born as whenever she's around. She's around a lot… but we can catch spare moments on the walk home from work; wait to kiss until we're hidden in a dark alley way; stall our touches until after she's left to visit a friend. You try to stay in your bed at night, too; more and more often I sleep alone. And despite what I say, it _does_ hurt, dammit—just like having to hide our feeling, just like having to watch you kiss her, just like—God, a million other things… _

_But that's okay. You make up for it, when you can. And you _are_ her husband, after all._

_I have no right to complain. _

—Ed

**X**

To say that he'd surprised Benjamin would have been the understatement of the century.

"_Ack—_!" Mr. Elric yelped, covering his head with his hands in an attempt to protect himself from the tower of boxes that threatened to topple over. Thankfully, the warning sway came to a hesitant halt—though many of the cases maintained a disturbing tilt. "Alex—!" Ben snapped, spinning around to face his second-oldest son with a flush and a grimace. "What do you think you're doing!"

Alex, who'd done nothing more than enter the garage and call his father's name, blanched; lowering the hand he'd lifted to wave. "Um…saying hi?" he offered weakly, shooting his father a puzzled gaze. Why was he so flustered? Why was he so jumpy?

The older man must have realized from Alexander's stare that he was acting strange, as he quickly straightened and cleared his throat, smoothing back his dark blonde hair. "Sorry," Benjamin muttered distantly, shaking himself and turning back towards the mountain of neatly stacked boxes. "You… startled me, that's all. I thought you were out with your mother and Rosie, but—um— never mind."

The brunette arched an eyebrow, understandably concerned. "Dad…?" he murmured, walking warily forward and touching his father's back. Mr. Elric was tall, taller than Edward; Alex, even when stretching on tip-toe, could merely reach his shoulder. Still, it was the only movement he felt he could make, so he made it.

However, the gesture wasn't appreciated. Ben shied quickly away, eyes glazing over behind his glasses.

Alexander tried again, verbally this time. "Dad?" he repeated, careful to keep his voice gentle and patient. "What're you doing? Are you looking for something? Maybe I could help—I'm the one Mom had organize these." The boy jabbed a finger towards the boxes, for once thankful that Edward had duped him into finishing his chores. "So…?"

His father glanced towards him, visibly embarrassed, mumbling something like "Oh, did she?" under his breath. Why? Why was he so troubled? Because he was caught in the garage digging through boxes? Or was his anxiety based on what he was looking _for_…?

Something secret.

It had to be something secret.

And suddenly, Alex knew. He knew beyond any sort of doubt; felt his belly twist into uncomfortable knots as it all came together. '_Grandpa's stuff…_' Mom _had_ told him that Dad had saved it to go through someday—he just hadn't had a chance or reason to do so. Not until now. Now; now that he knew his oldest son's secret, now that his neat little world was cracking. He needed the box of Edward Elric Sr. old things. Why? To remind himself why he had to kick Ed out? To reaffirm his opinions? To make sure it was still there, that his children hadn't been influenced by it?

Alexander wasn't sure. But one thing was for certain: _'He's looking for the diary—!_'

This was his chance.

"Well, um…" Mr. Elric scrubbed the back of his head, pasting a thin smile on his face. "Originally, I was looking for an old refrigerator box full of… items… but I guess you guys moved it all into smaller boxes, so… Do you remember which boxes you put the stuff from the refrigerator box into?"

Alexander swallowed, trying to keep cool. He knew from playing games with Rosie that he had a wonderful poker face— but this was real-life, and this was high-stakes. Still, if he could play his cards right now, he might win a real jackpot. "I dunno…" he drawled, nonchalantly easing himself onto of a stray box in the corner. "Could you tell me what the 'items' in it were? Items are easier to remember than specific boxes are."

Ben fidgeted, visibly uncomfortable. "Oh— oh yes, of course. Let's see… there were some old pictures and a journal. About the size of one of those comic books Rosie reads—"

"Manga."

"Yeah, those," the older man grunted, rolling his eyes. "About the size of one of those. And it's a dark brown color; almost black." He cast his son a hopeful look, removing his spectacles and cleaning them with a cloth he kept in his pocket, a nervous habit that the whole family recognized.

So far, so good.

"Hmm," Alex hummed contemplatively, brow crinkling in deep thought. "Those do sound famil— oh yeah!" The brunette glanced up with an expression of 'swift realization' on his face. "I remember those. Mom said they belonged to Grandpa!"

His father inhaled sharply, then nodded with a fake, cheerful grin. "Yes, yes they did. Since everyone was gone, I figured I might finally take a look through his things… I've been meaning to for a while, I've just never had the time."

Alexander didn't have to be a farmer to know bullshit when he smelt it. Regardless, he continued with his act—allowing his face to fall a bit. "Oh… oh, Dad, I'm sorry," he said dolefully, coiling a lock of hair around his finger. "Brother and I threw most of that stuff away… We didn't think you needed it anymore." Alex clicked his tongue apologetically, avoiding his father's gaze. However, after a suitable second had passed, he made another small noise in the back of his throat, turning to face his father once more. "So, wait—that filthy little journal? That belonged to Grandpa?" he inquired, trying to sound shocked and excited. "Really?"

Ben—who seemed torn between regret and… was that relief?—nodded hesitantly, sitting on a box bedside Alex's. "Yes… he started it when he was about E— a little older than you, and kept writing in it until the end."

"Man… now I wish I hadn't thrown it away," the boy pouted, glowering at the floor. "I'll bet it was full of history! And a first-person source, too…" He sighed, 'mourning the loss.' But then, abruptly, he frowned; tapping his chin with a thoughtful forefinger. "Hey… if you knew about it and how long Grandpa had written in it, Dad… had you read it before?"

Benjamin set his mouth in a tight glower; perched his glasses on the bridge of his nose and squinted aimlessly out the opened garage door. Rain was starting to splatter against the concrete, turning the soft gray a dark shade of gunmetal. "…I did, once," he admitted delicately, lacing his fingers together and resting his elbows on his knees. "When I was about 12. Your grandfather had left it on his bedside table and I couldn't resist, though he told me never to touch it." He chuckled nostalgically, shaking his head. "I never wanted to listen to him; he was always so strict…and I thought 'what's the harm?'"

Casting Alex a sideways glance, he grinned—a toothy, teasing smirk that both Rosie and Edward had inherited. Alexander blinked, surprised at its unexpected appearance. "I know it's hard to believe, but I was a kid once, too. I thought that everything my dad did was unfounded and stupid… that's just the way children are."

Alex pursed his lips, feeling his neck bend strangely when his father ruffled his hair. Sentiment was all well and good, but this wasn't the time for it… He'd have to be more straightforward. "What did it say?" the boy pressed, not having to fake the impatience in his tone. "What did the journal say? It must have said_ something_ worth remembering, if Grandpa had forbade you from reading it."

The smile vanished. Benjamin turned away, sighing. "…Yes, it did. But I really don't want to talk about it."

"I don't believe that," Alexander announced confidently, shocked by his own daring. His father arched an eyebrow, staring stonily. In response, the boy shrugged: trying his best to look nonchalant. "Well, I don't. If you came in here to find the diary after so long, whatever you read has clearly been on your mind. Recently. And you're obviously pretty preoccupied. What's wrong? What'd Grandpa's diary say?"

His father didn't reply; he only watched the rain as it fell, harder and harder against the ground.

Dead end. Dammit. Time for plan two. Alex bit the inside of his cheek, screwing up his courage for this next, crucial step. "Dad…" he tried again, softly; toying with the decorative zippers on his cargo pants, "I don't know much about Grandpa—I was only 6 when he died. But after you... after Edward left—" Ben stiffened "—Mom and I got to talking. I was really mad, but she told me that you had your reasons. That… that Grandpa had been gay, and you'd found out somehow."

Mr. Elric's face had hardened; his mouth a thin white line. But Alexander continued, regardless, feeling the butterflies in his stomach morph into a hive of anxious bees. "The only thing is… well, I mean, if you _really_ hated gays, you'd have to hate Grandpa, then—and you don't, do you? You named Ed after him, and you kept all of his stuff…"

"What're you getting at, Alex?" Benjamin inquired wearily, dragging a hand over his face.

"I— uh, well…" The teen wiggled his feet, watching them bounce against the face of the cardboard box. "I guess what I'm trying to ask is if that had anything to do with what you read about in Grandpa's diary. That maybe… you know… you found out something about Grandpa that kept you from… er, hating him for his sexual orientation?"

He didn't respond; not for a whole minute. Alex—torn between letting the matter drop and asking again—started weighing his options.

But then Ben took a deep breath and stood, dusting down his well-pressed pants; avoiding his son's probing gaze. "…Edward Elric was a good man," he said solemnly, unusually quiet. Alexander, surprised by the unfamiliar tone of voice, looked up abruptly: startled. "He was strong, smart, determined—and though life threw him more curve balls than he deserved, he kept on fighting. Through Hell and heart break, he never gave up, he never backed down. And even when he didn't need to… he took on responsibility." Benjamin nodded resolutely, briefly brushing the corner of his eye. Alex pretended not to see, glancing respectfully away. "I may not have agreed with… everything he did in his life, but I owe him more than I could ever possibly repay, and the least I could do was honor him."

The conversation was over.

Alexander watched mutely as his Dad walked away—opening the door to the kitchen and slipping noiselessly inside, firmly closing it in his wake. The sky roared. And Alex sat alone, scrutinizing the storm from his seat on the boxes, feeling unusually empty.

"It really didn't work… did it?" he breathed, hugging his knees to his chest.

He wasn't referring to his plan.

**X**

_October, 1945_

_Dear Al, _

_Things have been happening—have happened. Everywhere. Our old home in Germany; our new home in the United States... Years have passed since the more horrific stories played out, but still, I hate it. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to write about it._

_I can't stop remembering Amestris; Ishbal; fallen soldiers; mother.  
_

_We may act strong during the day, but at night…_

_I hope we don't have to deal with this any more than we already are. _

_  
—Ed_

**X**

"Well, aren't _I_ the lucky one?"

Alex smacked his brother playfully, rolling over so that he lay sprawled on Ed's stomach. The mattress squeaked beneath them… "Don't tease," he chided with a smile, resting his chin on his crossed arms. "It was really rather touching. You're lucky to be named after someone Dad cared so much for."

Edward snorted, playing with a strand of his brother's hair. "Could be worse, I guess. I coulda been named after Alexander the Great." He wrinkled his nose in mock distaste, laughing when his boyfriend punched him again.

"It's not my fault Mom was a history teacher before she had kids," he grumbled, blushing twenty different shades of pink. "I'm just grateful that she waited to take an interest in the arts until _after_ I was born… otherwise I might've ended up with a name like 'Vincent.'"

Ed snickered, gazing wistfully at the empty walls of his bedroom. "Oh, but I could've had such _fun_ teasing you—!" He threw his hands up in surrender when Alex glared. "You know I'm just kidding… and I'd love you even if Mom and Dad had named you Moonunit."

"Cute," Alex drawled flatly, though he colored just the same when Edward kissed his cheek. "You know, I'm only telling you because you asked."

"I know," the blonde sang, grinning widely. "And I asked because I'm interested. Family history is fun. Learning Dad's secrets is even more fun. But making jokes about it all? That's the best part." He winked to show he was only joking, tapping his younger sibling on the nose. "Now we should get you home. It's almost 11—you don't want to break curfew, do you, Al?"

Alexander's face crumpled, wrapping his arms tightly around Ed's middle and burying his face in his sibling's stomach. "I don't wanna…" the younger teen whined, voice muffled by his brother's warm skin. "I'd rather stay here."

Edward smiled, running his hands through Alex's long locks. "I know, and I wish that you could," he reminded soothingly, sitting up and forcing his lover to do the same. "But you can't. You know that."

The brunette nodded miserably—and for some reason, his mind began to wander backwards: reflecting on events that he hadn't even been present for. "Things can't last forever…" Alex heard himself whisper faintly, eyes locked on the murky window. He scowled, froze. Ed, who had been amusing himself with the task of re-buttoning Alexander's top, glanced up, curious. "Hm?" the older boy hummed animatedly, tugging his brother's lapels straight. "What was that?"

Just as suddenly as the frown had come, it was gone. In its place, the brunette wore a tender smile; tickled by Edward's childish enthusiasm over something as stupid as his shirt. But how could he always act so care-free? Didn't he realize how dangerous things were for them?

…not that he had the right to point fingers: Alex found himself forgetting, too, when he was with Ed. Of course, that was no excuse—especially with his grandfather's diary entries weighing heavily on his mind. Guilt, too, though he'd never actually admit it; piling higher and higher with each new lie he told his parents. Oh, they were worth it— he'd do anything to see Edward— but…

He shook his head, clearing it; forcibly untying the knots in his stomach. '_I'm not going to think about this. Not now, anyway._' "Nothing," the smaller boy assured, leaning over to brush his lips against his older sibling's collar bone. "I'm just a little tired."

"Well, then, let's get you home."

The walk back to the Elric's house was uneventful in a pleasant sort of way; they ambled down the shady streets hand in hand, dodging the puddles of golden light streetlamps cast on the shadowy sidewalks. It was nothing they hadn't done before—laughing and bantering over small talk, though always sure to keep quiet: just in case anyone in the nearby buildings happened to be awake or knew who they were. Usually the secrecy added a level of fun to the stroll, but tonight Alexander only felt exhausted, wishing he could've stayed with Ed.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

Alex gave a nasty start, the concerned question snapping him out of his gloomy reserve. "Huh?" he gaped, mentally smacking himself against the closest tree when he realized how 'intelligent' he sounded. "Er, I mean—yeah, I'm fine! Why do you ask?"

Edward quirked an eyebrow, torn between amusement and worry. "Because we're here," he announced with a small smile, gesturing his free hand in the direction of the house.

And so they were. The brunette blushed, embarrassed; feet nudging the frost-covered grass that grew over the edge of the driveway. "Oh…"

"We've _been_ here for the past five minutes," Ed continued, speaking in a tone which suggested that he was busy mentally critiquing Alex's health, "and all you've done is stand here holding my hand. Not that I'm complaining," he assured with a wink, "but you appeared rather deep in thought. So I'll ask again: are you sure you're all right?"

The younger boy glanced away, burrowing deeper into the warmth of his scarf. "Yeah, I'm fine," he repeated quietly, prying his fingers off Ed's. "I've just got a lot on my mind right now, what with Dad and the diary and all."

"Well, don't get so lost in the past that you forget the present," the blonde advised with an impish leer, bopping his brother mischievously on the head. "Or else you'll forget what day it is tomorrow and stand me up."

Despite himself, Alexander felt a smile tug on his lips. "Don't be stupid. I remember what tomorrow is—Friday, right?"

"And…?" Edward prompted, hooking his thumbs around the belt loops of his jeans. Alex graced him with an expression full of false confusion, mimicking his stance.

"And what?"

His elder sibling pouted; face twisting into a look of unbearable pain. "_Al_…!" he whimpered, though his mouth was already starting to morph into a grin, "Don't be mean. You know that we're going to the mall tomorrow—we're meeting up after school. Remember?"

Alex frowned pensively, rapping a finger against his chin. "That _does_ sound vaguely familiar, yeah…" He smirked, laughing behind his mittens when Edward tried to glare at him. "I'm kidding! Of course I remember. I'll meet you by the bus station at 3."

Ed immediately perked up. "All right then," he beamed, ruffling his baby brother's hair. It was the most affectionate gesture he could make while standing in front of his old home… who knew who was still awake inside? Alexander bat at the hand, privately wishing he could hold it a little longer. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow," the brunette promised, turning to march down the driveway and slip in through the back door. It was a performance he had long since grown used to repeating: he'd memorized every creaking step, each squeaking floorboard; how to open the door without making a sound. Rosalie had been right— he _had_ gotten used to sneaking around. Quickly. It was almost second nature, now… though he was beginning to feel properly ashamed about it.

'_Speaking of Rosie…_' Alex felt his brow furrow in bemusement, sliding the door shut behind him with a hasty glance around the kitchen. His little sister was no where in sight. '_Weird._' She was usually waiting for him at the kitchen table, eager to hear how the night had gone. ("_Without_ all of the juicy details, if you please," she had once requested, giving a teasing shudder. "I mean, you _are_ my brothers, after all.") '_I wonder where she is?_'

She couldn't possibly be asleep already, could she? Alexander tiptoed down the hallway, careful not to make any noise, and peaked around the half-open door at the very end of the passage. Rosalie's room.

Could she be asleep? Yes, evidently, she could. Her many, multi-colored lights had been flicked decisively off, and there was a predominant lump in her stuffed-animal-strewn bed: a lump that only a human could make. She was also snoring gently, which served as a pretty blatant hint; and though her computer monitor was glowing, she had—shockingly— logged off the internet.

Had he not seen the sight himself, Alex never would have believed it. His sister, asleep before midnight? Inconceivable.

'_Maybe she felt sick,_' he thought, pulling his head back from the doorway and stealing into his own bedroom. '_She _has_ been acting sort of strange… I'll ask her tomorrow._'

He gave it no more thought. Instead, he scurried into Edward's bunk and whipped out his Grandpa's journal; itching to read on despite the waves of uncertainty the more recent entries had been dousing him with.

"Let's see," the boy said to himself, speaking in a whisper. "September, 1953: Dear… Edward?"

Alex felt his insides drop away.

"You _cannot_ be serious."

**X**

_September, 1953_

_Dear Edward, _

_Forgive me for taking your journal out of your dresser drawer; I realize it was an intrusion of your space and privacy. Do not worry, I have not read any of it. However, I was going through my old notes earlier this morning and ran across a song I once wrote. It was then that I recalled a promise I had made—a promise to write that particular song down for you, as I had originally written it for you and Alphonse. I admit I had forgotten, but now that I have remembered I have no excuse not to keep my word.  
_

_I know that you had said you liked it, back when I first sang it for you; I hope you still like it, now. (Particularly the English translation, which I added per your long-ago request.) _

"Братья"

Прости меня, младший брат!  
Я так пред тобой виноват.  
Пытаться вернуть нельзя  
Того, что взяла земля.

Кто знает закон Бытия,  
Помог бы и мне найти ответ.  
Жестоко ошибся я:  
От смерти лекарства нет.

Милая мама! Нежная!  
Мы так любили тебя.  
Но все наши силы  
Потрачены были зря.

Тебя соблазнил я  
Прекрасной надеждой  
Вернуть наш семейный очаг.  
Мой брат, я во всем виноват.

Не плачь, не печалься, старший брат!  
Не ты один виноват.  
Дорога у нас одна,  
Искупим вину до дна.

Мне не в чем тебя упрекнуть,  
И я не обижен ничуть.  
Тяжек, наш грех  
Хотеть быть сильнее всех.

Милая мама! Нежная!  
Мы так любили тебя.  
Но все наши силы  
Потрачены были зря.

Я сам соблазнился  
Прекрасной надеждой  
Вернуть наш семейный очаг.  
Я сам во всем виноват.

Но что же нам делать, как быть?  
Как все исправить, забыть?  
Пытаться вернуть нельзя,  
Того, что взяла земля.

"The Brothers"

Forgive me, little brother  
I am to be blamed  
One shouldn't try to regain  
that which was taken away by the earth

The one who knows the law of being  
would help me find the answer.  
I was utterly mistaken;  
there is no cure for death.

Dear Mother! Affectionate one!  
We loved you so much.  
But all of our strength  
was spent in vain.

I intrigued you  
with the beautiful hope  
of returning our family's house  
My brother, the fault is all mine.

Don't cry, don't despair, big brother  
You are not the only one at fault  
We are both on the same road  
Let's bury all of the guilt

I have nothing to reproach you with  
And I bear no grudge at all  
Grievous is our sin  
The desire to be stronger than all

Dear Mother! Affectionate one!  
We loved you so much.  
But all of our strength  
was spent in vain.

I was intrigued, myself  
with the beautiful hope  
of returning our family's house.  
I am the one to blame.

So what should we do, how should we act?  
How do we correct everything and forget?  
One shouldn't try to regain  
that which was taken away by the earth.

_  
—Annya_

**X**

One thing was for certain: Alexander needed to stop reading these life-changing entries at 12 in the morning. It made sleeping really, really difficult.

"_Mom!_" Alex screeched, sliding into the kitchen as soon as his clock read 6:30 AM. However, he was a little _too_ enthusiastic… or, at least, a bit absentminded. Either way, he should have forgone the socks: he slid into the room so fast that he nearly slammed into the table, cursing his feet all the while.

Teri Elric chuckled good-naturedly as he floundered, pinwheeling his arms and dragging himself to the counter. "Good morning, Alex," she chirped from her place behind the island, working busily on pancakes. Her apron was already covered in flour and cinnamon. "You're certainly up early."

Early—ha! She didn't know the half of it; he'd barely slept a wink all night. He was too busy, too shocked… and the words of her old lullaby wouldn't stop running through his head.

But he didn't need to tell her that. Instead, he slammed the diary down in front of her, slapping the page he'd discovered the night before. "_This,_" he said in a breathless, demanding voice. "This, it—!"

Baffled, his mother blinked vacantly down at the small black journal; eyes skimming the words he'd been jabbing at with little more than polite interest. "Um… yes?" She smiled brightly, pouring liberal amounts of batter onto the sizzling griddle before her. "And what is that?"

"What IS it?" Alexander gawked, frustrated and more than mildly irritated. "It's your song! The lullaby you used to sing to us when we were little! Don't you remember?" He quickly hummed a bar or two, repeating the ending chorus: "_So what should we do how to act; forget everything bring it back_—!"

"_One never should try to rebirth what was taken away by the earth,_" Mrs. Elric finished calmly, flipping a flapjack with a rubber-tipped spatula. "Yes, of course I remember. What's the matter?"

"What's the _matter_?" the brunette choked, face white with shock. Teri noticed his clammy countenance with a murmur of concern, lifting a hand to feel his forehead. Alex easily ducked away. "Mom, how do you know this song? _How?_ I know you said Dad read Grandpa's diary, but did you…?"

He trailed off, eyes locked on his mother's composed face. She glanced his way briefly; sighed… then smiled, aware that she wasn't going to be able to skate around this.

Alexander waited.

Astonishingly, he wasn't disappointed.

"You'd have loved your Grandma Annya," Teri declared, beaming as if this conversation were nothing out of the ordinary. "She was quite the storyteller. Always talking about the past and days gone by… she'd seen hundreds of amazing sights by the end of her life. But her favorite story to tell was of two brothers she had met." Mrs. Elric bubbled merrily, sliding the finished pancakes onto four plastic plates. "Quite the epic… she insisted it was true. And although she never had a chance to tell me the whole of their adventures, she _did_ teach me that song— and she made me promise to sing it to my children so that the brothers' story wouldn't be forgotten."

"…" Alex gaped wordlessly, only realizing how far his jaw had dropped when he felt his chin hit his throat. He promptly snapped his mouth shut again, but his face remained a dazed white. "How much… did she tell you?" _'How much did Mom know…?_'

Mrs. Elric only smiled, pushing a plate of flapjacks towards her son. Alex quirked an eyebrow; she'd decorated the top of his breakfast with a syrup smiley-face. "Eat up," she cheerfully encouraged, resting her elbows on the counter and her chin in her hands, watching him with large, bright eyes. "I don't want you getting hungry during the day— especially with how little you eat of your lunch and how late you get home for dinner. And I don't trust that mall food at all."

A bite of pancake slipped off Alexander's fork; his silver pools widened to the size of oceans. "Mall food—? What're you…?"

Teri beamed, waving a hand and turning to attack the dirty dishes in the sink. "I just don't want you getting sick, honey," she explained sweetly, oblivious to the growing shock on her youngest son's face. "Oh, and don't stay out too late with Edward, all right? Strange people ride the bus after dark."

The fork fell from his hands with a clatter. Simultaneously, Alex felt his stomach vanish. Vanish; and the rest of his insides turn to ice—horror painting itself on his overly expressive features. His ears were buzzing; his heart racing…

Pushing away from the kitchen island, the boy flew backwards with so much force that his stool almost toppled over. '_Forget 'did'— How much _does_ Mom know_?' he thought in a panic, slowly inching away.

His mother began humming their lullaby.

Alex grabbed his backpack and bolted out the door.

'_How much do they _all_ know?_'

**X**

_June, 1955_

_Dear Al, _

_Damn, it's been years again, hasn't it? Sorry—I know that I should write more often, but I'm too distracted by… well, living. Time seems to move so quickly, you know? One minute it's 1921, the next it's 1955. I don't know where the months go, I really don't. Hell, the only reason I'm writing _now_ is because I have nothing else to do: you're sick with the flu and Annya had to go shopping, so I volunteered to stay and take care of you. I may miss out on bossing my museum underlings around (haha), but it's worth it to spend some time with you, ill or not. _

_It's almost fun (rather, it's fun marred by occasional vomiting): reliving memories of mother and of lazing around as sick children. We spent a long time talking about how we used to take naps together in her big downy bed, cold cloths pressed to our foreheads; kept alive on strict diet of broth and juice. I tried to reenact that for you: I made some apparently-edible broth (we were both surprised that it wasn't toxic) and found some juice; pressed a cold cloth to your forehead and laid beside you on the bed, waiting to move until you fell asleep with a bad headache. _

_After that, I got up to fetch you another wet cloth and feed your whining cat. It only took a minute; and it was on my way back from the kitchen, when I passed my bedroom, that I paused and —on nothing more than a whim— decided to take out this old journal. Which brings me to now: sitting on a chair beside your bed, writing as you sleep. Heck, maybe when you wake up, I'll finally share this little book with you. You never did press for information when you saw me writing in it so many years ago… Maybe you forgot, maybe you were respecting my space, but either way, this _was_ written for you—so I should really let you read it, shouldn't I? _

_In fact, I should pr—_

**X**

East Central mall was known for many things: its size, its stores, and its sales being three beloved attractions. It was a four-story architectural masterpiece of fiberglass and steel located only 45 minutes from Edward and Alex's small neighborhood, making it easily accessible by bus or car; typically bus, seeing as how Edward could no longer borrow his parent's car. But at least they didn't have to fight with holiday shoppers for parking spaces, anymore.

This particular mall was a frequent haven for the Elric boys, also on the grounds of size, stores, and sales—just for different reasons. Reasons that mostly fell in the category of "staying inconspicuous": the more places, people, and pandemonium, the easier it was to hide in public. And normally that was enough for Alex—the opportunity to subtly hold Edward's hand in a crowd of strangers, discuss meaningless musings and act like a regular couple: cloaked among people who didn't know or care about them one way or another.

But Alexander's thoughts were too far gone that night; his whole brain stunned stupid by his discussions with his father, his mother, the most recent entries in his grandfather's diary. Though it had nearly been 12 hours since his breakfast chat with Mrs. Elric, his innards had yet to stop squirming… and he was beginning to second-guess every glance shot his way, intentional or not.

He jumped half a foot when he felt a hand brush his own.

There was a dreary sigh. "All right, that does it."

Alex snapped his head up when he heard a paper cup hit the sticky surface between them, abruptly aware of his surroundings. They were in the food court… enclosed by countless white checkered tables, shaded by a forest of plastic green ferns; serenaded by screaming children and the noisy gossip of conformity-driven teenagers, all of whom wore clothing either three sizes too big or three sizes too small. Dozens of nutrition-needy customers clamored around the dozen fast-food joints, yelling their orders so as to be heard over the din.

The brunette blinked; fingers tightening around his drink. There was the faint taste of food in his mouth… what had he ordered again? '_Heck, when did we _get_ here?_' "Um… sorry about that—you startled me," he mumbled, almost shyly; blushing. "What were we… er… talking about, again?"

Edward's face tightened, furrowing with worry. Pushing aside a litter-ridden plastic tray, he leaned forward—piercing his younger brother with those unnervingly golden eyes. Alex's cheeks darkened; his own glance drifted to the right.

Ed frowned. "Seriously, Al…" He looped his fingers around the hand Alexander had left lingering on the table, voice steady and soft. But even the gentle evenness of his tone was unable to smooth out the kinks in Alex's stomach; if anything, they merely made them worse: the memories and revelations returning with augmented distress and dread. Edward… himself… Grandpa… Alphonse. Alexander could barely suppress the tremors that shot through his body. And though he knew was being irrational, he couldn't stop panicking— it was getting harder and harder to breathe. "I know I've asked this already but… are you really okay? You've been out of it all day. What's on your mind?"

Alex didn't respond. He didn't lift his gaze. He didn't do anything, really; the cool condensation of his soda dripping down his clammy palm. But his brother had been blessed with an innate sense of patience, so he waited—tawny pools deep and wide and ember-bright, watching the brunette's face crumple with thoughts and emotions.

"It's just…" The younger boy swallowed thickly, trying not to squirm as a little girl stared pointedly at them, waving with a smile when scolded by a parent for her rudeness. "It's just that I've been reading more of Granapa's diary and it's…"

Alexander paused; irresolute. It's _what_? Disturbing him? Alerting him? Making him nervous?

He tried again.

"You've heard that history repeats itself, right?" he asked quietly, careful to keep his eyes anywhere but focused on his older brother. Edward, nonplussed, made a sound of assent in the back of his throat. "Well, in Grandpa's journal, things have… not gone so well. And I—"

Ed suddenly smiled, leaning back in his chair with a wave of his hand and an understanding chuckle. "Is that it?" he surmised, face decorated with amusement and adoration. "You don't think things will work out for us because they didn't work out for Grandpa and his brother?" Alexander flushed brightly, horrified that Edward had said something like that so loudly. What if someone overheard? "Oh Al, you don't have to—"

"Mom knows."

All the color drained from his elder siblings face; he blinked at Alex, dumbfounded. "What…?"

"Mom knows," Alex repeated dourly, annoyed beyond words by the ease with which his brother had been responding to his greatest fears. "At least… she knows more than we thought she did. She knows about the diary; Annya, Grandpa, and Alphonse. She knows I'm seeing you. She might even know what we're _doing_." He bit his bottom lip, glaring frostily at the table between his sibling and himself.

Edward managed another small, though somewhat forced, smile; brushing their hands together one more time. "I think you're being a bit paranoid, Al—" he began quietly, but was cut off by a fervent shake of Alex's head.

"Not paranoid," he snapped. "Cautious. We're supposed to learn from history, after all: history _does_ repeat itself. _Don't you see_?" Alexander finally reconnected their eyes, his own wavering with desperate insecurity. "It's just like what happened with Annya—once anyone finds out, it's over. And it… it _ruins_ people, Brother. Ruins relationships between friends and spouses and destroys trust. It ruined Grandpa and Alphonse. It ruined Annya too. It ruined _Dad_."

Alex took a deep breath; Edward watched him do so with determinedly vacant eyes. But still, the younger boy could see the hurt—the horror— behind them. "What are you trying to say, Alex?"

The brunette scrunched his nose, scowling—again, unable to look anywhere but away from his older sibling. "I'm… I'm saying that things can't stay like this forever," he whispered, feeling the paper cup in his grasp crumple, yet unable to loosen his grip. "That things don't work like that. I'm saying that all of this running and hiding and sneaking around isn't good for either of us… I'm saying that I'm not fearless, like you—I'm _scared._" As if on cue, Alex felt the pinpricks of tears gather behind his eyes. He hated himself for being so weak.Still, he pressed on— smacking away the fingers that darted out to touch his cheek, hissing through his teeth when he wasn't able to murmur softly anymore. "I'm scared of Mom knowing; of Dad knowing… I'm scared of all the rules we're breaking coming back to bite us, like they did to Grandpa and Alphonse. And…and I'm scared of everything falling apart!"

Edward ran a hand over his face, drained and preoccupied: a gesture that Alexander recognized from their father. Now _he_ was having trouble maintaining eye contact: tilting back in his chair, pale and almost timid. Disorientated.

After another moment, the blonde blew out his cheeks; carefully leaning forward and closing his eyes, as if awaiting the guillotine. The air around them stilled… like it was dead. "So then…" Ed began, in a voice so cold and distant that Alex wondered momentarily where his brother had gone, "what do you want to do?"

What did he…?

Alexander's mind went blank. What did he want to _do_? What _could_ he do? What choices did they have? What choices could there possibly _be_?

…only one. The boy's own expression crumbled, flesh ashen as his stomach rolled itself into a tight ball; refusing to loosen so long as his heart still beat. But that was fine: it was a problem that would soon be remedied. Because… because…

Well, that was it, wasn't it? The only way to stop everything bad… was to stop everything good.

"I…" Alex choked, struggling to un-stick the sour words in the back of his throat. Tentatively, he turned— touching his hand to Edward's; staring resolutely into those haunting amber eyes once they'd fallen on him. It had to be done… "We... we have to end this, Brother," he whispered, trying to ignore the way something behind Ed's eyes appeared to splinter; trying to ignore the way his own heart seemed to snap in two. "Before it gets out of hand. Before people start to question us; before our lives are ruined. We can't go through life hiding from neighbors and friends— we can't keep pretending we have a future together. You know we don't… we _can't_. Things don't work like that. So we…" Alexander broke off, trying to speak around a sob, "we have to stop_ now_, before—! Before…"

He hurriedly glanced away, blinking rapidly in an attempt to quash the threat of oncoming tears.

The blonde's trembling fingers quickly laced around his brother's. "Alex…" he breathed, in a voice so soft and helpless that Alexander nearly shattered, falling to pieces; but no, he couldn't— this was… this was for the best…

"_Don't_," Alex begged, disentangling their hands. He could feel his insides writhing again, worse than before; his voice shaking like leaves in the wind. "Don't look at me like that, Ed. Please…!" '_Don't make this harder than it already is—!_'

But Edward could no more stop looking broken than Alex could stop feeling broken. "I'm sorry," the younger boy pleaded, pulling away entirely; trying not to act as small as he felt. "I'm _sorry_, Brother, but it has to be this way… it _has_ to, if we ever want to be happy."

Silence. Impenetrable, grave, painful; destroyed only by Ed's rueful grin. Alexander wanted to die when he saw it… "Well…" the older teen said quietly—in a voice crisp with empty comfort and sheered hurt, "as long as you're happy, Alex."

And that was it. Alexander stared blankly at Edward, torn between self-loathing and anger; enraged by the aching loss that painted Ed's features, furious at his gallant agreement—even while his golden eyes cried: crumbling to ash, imploring that Alex take it back. But he'd never voice that wish… because he'd meant what he said. All he wanted was his baby brother's happiness.

_Damn him!_ Damn him for his sweetness; for his understanding; for not yelling and screaming and hating Alex as much as Alex now hated himself. And_ God_, Alex hated himself; a detestation that well-surpassed the point of redemption, all for putting that look on Ed's face.

He couldn't be here anymore; he couldn't take the glimmer of wounded concern in Edward's gaze.

"I'm sorry," Alexander echoed, subdued and strained and nearly snarled; pushing away from the table with arms as heavy as lead. "_I'm sorry_—!"

And he ran: ran into the crowd, melding into the throng; pushing his way through the shoppers and their present-heavy bags, forcing his body in the direction of the exit. Faster and faster, before the world could swallow him whole, throw him into the darkness growing behind his eyes; before Ed could—!

…But even if the stores had all been empty, even if they'd been the only two people around, he knew that Edward wouldn't have followed.

Alex was alone.

Still, he waited until he made it to the bus stop to begin crying: curling up on the wooden bench and sobbing—louder and louder, until he'd reached a wail— vainly trying to stifle the sound with his knees. The wind blew, the stars shone, stray advertisements fluttered down the garbage-covered streets. But he didn't care. He just cried; oblivious to those who saw him, who heard, who stared: unaware of the child's frustration and broken heart.

He really was alone.

**X**

_June, 1955_

_Dear Al, _

_I… I don't know what happened. One minute you were fine—ill, yes, but fine—the next you were jerking, jerking like you were being electrocuted, making these… squeaking little retching sounds as you choked on spit; conscious for one moment and the ne…_

_God damn it, I can't even write about it! _

_A seizure. You had a seizure, and I panicked. I called the hospital; that's where we are right now. Annya's here, too, but she's with you. I'm in the waiting room—only one of us was allowed to go in to see you, and since you're her husband… _

I don't really know how long I've been here. I'm still trying to piece together what's going on. You have the flu! We shouldn't be in the hospital at all; none of this should be happening! None of this… not the increasing temperature, not the rashes, not the c—

…_you're in a _coma

_I want to know what the _fuck's_ going on; I want to know _now_—! But I can't do anything but _wait_ here, because I have no idea where you are or what's going on and I'm scared that if I do anything, I might make things _worse_. I just—_

_Wait, there's Annya. She's coming through the doors to the waiting room. There are doctors with her._

_She's crying. _

And she's speaking to me.

"_I'm sorry." _

—Ed

**X**

The bus, as always, dropped Alex off on the side of the road about 15 minutes away from his house: beside a glowing streetlight and a frozen metal bench. Said bench looked even colder tonight than usual, as in the sky dark clouds began to collect: splotching out large patches of the diamond-bright heavens. Alexander watched the gathering vapors with itchy red eyes, sniffling once: unimpressed as a sprinkling snow began to fall. He sneezed; a puffy white flake stuck to an eyelash.

He shook his head and continued down the sidewalk; hands in his pockets and a lump in his throat.

How has this happened? How had everything fallen apart? He knew it was his fault; knew he'd been the one to travel down the condemned path of what-ifs, but it had only been out of concern for both of their well-beings. It was supposed to be for the best…

So why did he feel like he was dying?

The brunette snuffled weakly, the raw clawing of bile stinging the back of his throat. He was coughing, he was panting, he was… humming?

Alex gave a jolt, startled to hear his voice— scratchy, hoarse, whimpering— melting into the tune he'd heard countless times growing up; always used to hum when upset. But that was an insult to memory, now that he knew who had written the song; now that he knew of his mother's familiarity with the story. He didn't want to sing it, he didn't want to do anything other than cry.

Regardless, the words forced themselves out of his mouth, one by one; strained, painful… unfamiliar. Words that strayed from the original lyrics.

Alexander slapped a hand over his mouth, convulsing as if about to vomit. _'NO._' he thought firmly, seeing his house in the distance and racing for it—trying to outrun his depression and fear. _'I don't want to think about it! I don't want to think about him! I don't—!_'

He burst into the kitchen, not caring if Rosie was there—not caring if he was quiet—not caring if his parents ground him for life for coming home at 11:30. He just didn't care anymore; didn't care about anything other than dulling the pain of his insides being torn into unrecognizable shreds.

Holding himself in a pseudo-hug, the boy fruitlessly tried to gulp down another harsh sob; about to storm past the living room and go to bed—

When his eyes fell upon his piano, sitting there in the darkness: big and brown and familiar and calling… the catharsis he craved.

Alex whimpered, edging gingerly closer: standing before the instrument as if terrified it might attack him. When it didn't, he allowed a tentative hand to drift towards the keys, brushing their glossy surface with an aggrieved kind of adoration. He pressed a little harder, shaping a familiar chord.

The notes sang loudly— melancholy; miserable.

And then he was playing. Without thinking about it, without realizing it; without feeling himself ease onto the wooden seat: the haunting melody began to pour from his fingers like teardrops, wetting the ivory surface of the keys. It was distressed, it was joyful, it was heart-breaking… but it wasn't Annya's.

It was a song all his own.

As he played, a little black book slipped out of his back pocket, dropping to the carpeted floor with a muffled thump. Bouncing once on its spine, the two covers fell back: opening to a page worn and wrinkled by antique tears.

**X**

_June, 1955_

_Dear Al, _

_Meningitis. _

_You somehow contracted bacterial meningitis… and you—_

_You…_

_Fuck it, I can't _believe_ it, let alone _write_ it! I _can't_… you were _just here_. You were just here, dammit, and now you're _not! _I don't— I can't—! _

Annya is crying. She's been crying for hours now: we sat in the hospital waiting room for a long time, doing just that. It was odd…not the crying, but the crying with her_. She sat herself in my lap—she's still so small— and wrapped her arms around me, just like when she was 12. _

_She apologized. Wailing, snuffling, and heart-broken, she apologized repeatedly—sorry for all of the things she'd said, sorry for not understanding, sorry for trying to steal you away, sorry for acting like a spoiled brat… sorry that she wasn't a better person; sorry that she didn't know how to help me, now. Sorry for everything she had and hadn't done. _

_Sorry that you're gone._

_I should have said something in response to all of that. I should have. But I couldn't. I couldn't even manage to feel any sort of gratitude for her earnest regrets; I was only numb. I was numb, then cold, then hot—then gone. _

I was gone. I was nothing. I was another person, someone outside myself; someone outside the silently sobbing man who sat on that hard plastic hospital chair, shock and denial painted on his face.

_I… I'm still gone. Sitting by the window, watching the sky; wondering if, were we in Amestris, would I have been able to save you? I will never know. And it will never matter. Because even if the answer were yes…_

_It's too late. It's too late to do anything— I wouldn't even be able attach your soul to armor, now. You're gone, little brother. _

_You're gone. _

_And I've lost you forever this time. _

—Ed

**XXX**

_…um…_

_I know this is a bad time to say it, but I'm gonna be out of state for a good chunk of July (I'm actually out of state now; I was just lucky and found myself a temporary internet connection), so… I might not have a chance to update for a while. _

_Just remember that hating/killing me won't get you a new chapter any faster! _

…_(runs screaming from readers)_

_PS. DON'T PANIC. Things will be further explained next chapter—especially baby!Ben. I promise. X3_

_PSS. Alexander's song, "Brothers' Sadness," will be included on the Skeletons OST—both with and without lyrics. :D Yea!_

_PSSS. The English translation I used of "Brothers" was written by combining and comparing a few different translations I've found drifting around the internet. I apologize for any inaccuracies; I speak very little Russian. (sweatdrop)_


	9. Letter Nine

_Disclaimer: C'mon, you've heard it all before._

_Author's Note: Hey guys; sorry this chapter took so long. I took a bit of a break from writing… I've been really tired, and I've been longing to get some drawing done. (I'm working on a new doujinshi, woot:D) Don't worry, I wasn't ignoring Skeletons during that time—I've been working hard on the OST, too. XD _

_Apart from that, only one other thing to say before we get started: _

**THIS FIC IS NOT ANGST. **

_I admit, last chapter was angsty. I'll even give you that the chapter before it had some angst, and this one will, too. BUT THAT'S NOT ALL. I got really, _really_ frustrated with the number of the people who felt it was necessary to tell me off for not labeling this entire fanfic as "romance/angst." I apologize for the lack of warning last chapter, but that's all. This fic is NOT ANGST. It's romance/GENERAL. Perhaps some of you missed it, but there's been humor, suspense—no adventure, but some action (haha)— drama... all those kind of things, as well, in previous chapters. Not just angst. So NO, I did NOT mislabel this fic, NOR will I be calling it "romance/angst." Sorry if this offends, but just wait. You'll see what I'm talking about soon enough. _

_On that note, thanks—as always—for all the sweet responses to last chapter! XD I'm glad you're all still enjoying, despite my cruelness to our darling Alphonse-kun. :3 I hope you like chapter 9! _

**XXX **

X

X

X

Alexander, Rosalie, and I grew up under the protective and influential wing of our mother. Dad was always busy with his job, you see, even at home—working on scripts and edits and technical mumbo-jumbo that no one really bothered to ask about. Not to say that he wasn't a good parent: he would make time for us, and we did have fun together. But Mom was our main role model, and you can still see proof of it today. As she's always been rather—shall we say—whimsical, she spent a great deal of time dousing our young minds with music and art and stories. She obviously did her job well: I adore painting and drama, Alex is almost always glued to his piano, and Rosie likes singing and writing whenever she has a spare minute. Even Mom's other, less dreamy passions, such as history, were inherited by my brother.

But the most memorable things that she passed down to us were her lullabies.

Funny, isn't it, how a person's mind works? The memories are wonderful, and the lessons she taught were great, but whenever I feel depressed or frustrated, it's the lullabies that I recall. They were soothing and sweet and haunting, and they always had a calming effect. The one that Alex and I heard the most when we were growing up was called "The Brothers." She never told us the meaning behind the words, or where she had learnt it, but it was by far our favorite. We'd sing it all of the time: in the car, in the park, in the bathtub, in our bedroom… when we took summer walks with Mom. She thought it was adorable, of course; there are probably tapes hidden somewhere in the attic of a little Al and I crooning the song in the backyard, digging holes to China as we did so. But while she encouraged our duet at home, I distinctly remember her telling us never to sing the song in front of Grandpa.

We questioned her, as children do, whining for no other reason besides that we could. But eventually we agreed, deciding it must be another one of those "adult rules" we weren't supposed to understand. Not that it mattered, anyway—we had different lullabies with Grandpa.

Singing was another one of Grandpa's secret pleasures. He was good at it. Or, at least, he once had been: but, like the rest of the body, voices grow old… until they become shadows of what they formerly were. Still, his was soft and gentle and managed to maintain a certain youth—the same kind that crept into his eyes, once in a while, when we visited; when he was playing with us or retelling tales.

Most of our visiting took place in his apartment… or, once in a while, the swings at the park. There, while telling us those endless stories, he'd mention a song or two he'd learnt in some foreign land and sing us a few bars. We'd make him repeat himself over and over again until we'd memorized it, and could sing along with him. He never seemed to mind, and would sometimes let us choose which lullaby to sing before naptime. Generally though, he'd pick for us.

Grandpa's usual lullaby…

I didn't like it very much; I found it depressing. But for some reason, it's been on my mind a lot, lately… and I'm beginning to think that maybe he'd been trying to tell me something. That maybe the song had been another story in and of itself.

_There were two birds sat on a stone,_

_Fa, la, la, la, lal, de;_

_One flew away, and then there was one,_

_Fa, la, la, la, lal, de;_

_The other flew after, and then there was none,_

_Fa, la, la, la, lal, de;_

_And so the poor stone was left all alone,_

_Fa, la, la, la, lal, de._

**X **

X

X

**XXX **

Skeletons

XXX

Time, Alexander had long since realized, was a funny, fickle thing. The days that had, before, flown so swiftly by—that had felt like mere hours at the time—had suddenly stopped; slowing to a monotonous drag that left him feeling physically heavy, and more than slightly depressed. Life was boring, now: colorless and cold. Empty.

And it didn't help that he knew the reason for the change; what his life was empty _of_.

Sighing deeply and dropping his chin to his desk, Alex ran his fingers through his hair, the math problems that he'd rested his cheek upon blurring in their closeness to his eyes. _'Has it really only been five days?_' he mused flatly, turning to gaze unseeingly at his clock. Only five… it may as well have been an eternity. That's what it felt like, anyway, with no Edward or Rosie to talk to.

Alexander cringed at the memory, but that was the extent of his reaction. He was too miserable and numb to do anything else anymore, even cry. And even if he could, what was there to cry _about_? This was all his decision… his little sister had no right to be mad.

And yet, she was. When he hadn't gone to see Edward the previous day, she'd been stunned and concerned, ordering to know what the matter was—did something happen, did they have a fight? Was that why Alex had woken up the family with his piano at midnight? She only asked once, but her expression had left no room for debate: he was going to tell her what was wrong. Now. Which wasn't that big of a deal (or so he told himself): he hadn't been planning on keeping their breakup a secret from her. Still, when he answered—bluntly, flatly, obviously not feeling very well— Rosalie's rage was more pronounced than if he'd refused to say a thing.

"What do you _mean_, 'aren't together anymore?'" she'd demanded, spinning to face Alexander with a furious twirl of her spindly chair, her computer monitor glowing eerily behind her. Her face was white, but splotched with a warning, raging red…

Instinctively, Alex had turned away from the irate glare, poking at the large stuffed gorilla Rosie kept on her bed. "It was for the best," he'd whispered, voice still raw from all his noisy tears. He'd shed a lot of them, that night. "You know we can't be together, Rosalie. We're… it's just not how things work. This _is_ for the best, I k—"

"_Bullshit._"

Alexander jerked involuntarily, silvery eyes sweeping up to meet her own: a blazing fire of aquamarine fury. If there was one thing Rosie could do well, it was be mad. Alex couldn't help but tremble—only once, and quite discretely—in her quivering presence.

"What the _hell_ is your problem, Alexander?" she'd softly snarled, clutching her arm rests so tightly that her knuckles became the same color as the snow outside the window. "What the _fuck_ will it take!"

"Rosalie!" Alex gaped, brow furrowing. "Don't—"

But his reprimand had been cut off by a furious sweep of her hand, slicing through the air like a scythe. In an instant she was on her feet, stomping towards him with a menacing grace. As she neared, her brother noticed with mild shock the violet bags beneath her eyes; the burgundy streaks leading away from her thick lashes. Had she been crying? "It's always about _you,_ isn't it?" Rosie hissed, unbridled frustration darkening her voice. Her words began to pick up speed as they fell from her mouth… as if a dam had finally broken inside of her. He backed an inch away, stunned. "It's always about your selfishness and impulsiveness! It's always about your stupid whining and wailing and wishing—and then you run screaming when things get a little difficult! It's always about _you_! For _once_—just _once_—can't you do something for someone _else_! Do something for _Edward_!"

Alexander scowled, staring coldly down at his sister: intimidating, despite having let her back him into a corner, fists clenched and breathing heavily. "I _am_," he'd retorted vehemently, though just as quiet. "I'm doing _this_ for Edward."

"You—_rrgh!_" Rosalie made claws with her fingers, gripping at the air and positively convulsing in aggravation. "You _moron!_"

And with that, he'd been physically kicked out of her bedroom.

Since then, Rosie hadn't spoken a word to him—not even something as simple as "pass the potatoes" at dinner time. But at least he wasn't the only one being ignored: Edward, too, seemed to be receiving similar treatment. Or, rather, Alex assumed he was—he'd heard her arguing with their older brother over the phone through his bedroom wall, and that conversation hadn't gone much better than their own. The call had ended, anyway, with Rosalie slamming the receiver down so hard that the plastic cradle cracked. That was as good a sign of her wrath as any.

Returning to the present with a pang of remorse, Alex shook his head, trying hard not to think about the argument, about Ed… about how jealous he was of Rosalie, for talking to him… remembering how his voice sounded, even over the telephone…

Shit.

Groaning furiously upon realizing he'd reached a whole new level of Pathetic, Alexander pushed himself to his feet, slamming his text book shut. He'd never get his homework done, now… not with his mind so obviously elsewhere, lingering on times both better and worse. Either way, they were times that easily trumped the 'now;' understandably, his brain had no apparent desire to return and work on Calculus.

Dad was going to kill him when he saw his next report card.

'_Or maybe I'll just do the job for him and get it over with,_' Alex thought gloomily, shoulders slumped despite his upright position. He ruffled his bangs with a loud sigh, stuffing his fists deep into his pockets; brooding like the child he was trying very hard not to be.

No, there was no denying it: Alexander was a mess. He didn't even feel like 'Alexander' anymore… more like a heavy, nameless waste of skin. Though perhaps that weight was his emotions' fault— everything that should be light or bubbly inside of him had been covered in lead and chained to some metaphorical wall, leaving him feeling more and more impassive with each passing second. His chest was a constant knot of tight tingling… aching. His lungs hurt. His heart hurt. His head hurt. But he stubbornly refused to acknowledge the reasons behind it. He could miss Edward all he wanted—'_For platonic reasons _only,' he told himself firmly, fruitlessly; but no—he was _not_ going to be the reason Alex fell to pieces.

Alex was not _going_ to fall to pieces.

'_Alex is going to crumble into nothingness,_' Alexander mused darkly, still standing in the middle of his room, staring at the bunk bed. He forcefully beat memories away, choosing instead to concentrate on the bed itself—staring at it until it no longer made sense in his mind; until the frame looked hazy and his mattress seemed surreal. "…I wonder if crushing your own heart always hurts this much," he murmured softly, in a voice so unlike his own that he startled himself.

Then he snorted, ashamed and embarrassed by his whispers, as he stalked out the door.

**X**

_June, 1955_

_Dear Al,_

_I don't even know where to start. My mind is a jumble of facts and realizations and memories and emotions that are all blending together, mixing and melding and melting, leaving me empty, buzzing. _

_We buried you yesterday. It was a quiet ceremony: me, Annya, the priest, a few of your co-workers and friends. Gretchen—the woman you used to work with in New York, the one who taught Annya The Birds and The Bees— even came down for it. She was awfully kind; she took Annya home for me so that I could spend some time alone with you. And she brought you flowers, too—tiger lilies, your favorite. But Annya took them home with her, saying that you wouldn't have wanted them to wither away without anyone around to appreciate them. She's right, of course, but it still felt to me like she was stealing something from you. _

_But maybe I'm being stupid. Or maybe I'm just jealous that she knew what you would have wanted. That she knew you at all. And knew you _well

_Did she know you as well as _I _knew you? I'd like to think not, but…_

_I spent a long time with you, Al, alone in that cemetery. If life were like the movies, it would have been misty and gray and rainy outside, but no: it was bright and warm and sunny. The Cyprus trees were beautiful, rustling in the wind._

_You would have thought so, too, I think. _

_I cried, Al. I cried a lot. More than I did when I first heard you'd...—dammit, I need to write it; I can't just pretend it didn't happen—_

_I cried more at the funeral then I did when I first heard you'd… died. I couldn't stop crying. I wasn't wailing or anything; I didn't make any noise at all. But the tears kept streaming down my face, so many that Annya thought I might wither like the tiger lilies. _

_Somewhere deep inside, I sort of wished I would. But I knew that you'd hate to see me wither, Al, even more than you'd hate to see the flowers go to waste. _

_Eventually I had to leave the cemetery. It was hard, so hard, to turn my back on you. But Annya had let me keep your wedding ring—in some attempt, I think, to surrender your memory to me— and when I held it I felt a little better. _

_I wanted to put it on a chain and wear it around my neck, Al, because it will always be yours and I have no right to pretend, but Annya asked me to wear it on my finger, because she needs a husband, now._

_She's pregnant. _

_We found out the other day, after our doctor appointments. The hospital had forced us to take them, to make sure we were both healthy—meningitis-free. While they were examining Annya, I guess something seemed unusual, because they gave her a more thorough checkup than me, and… well… she not only got a "congratulations, you're perfectly healthy" but a "congratulations, you're expecting." _

_Two months along, too. I guess that makes sense, as her birthday was in late March, and we both know what she always asked for. Still, great timing, right? You're going to be a dad, and you're not even here. It must be the Elric curse, huh?_

_Don't worry, little brother. I'll take care of the baby for you. Even if I'm not as good with kids as you are, I'll try. I really will. You'll see…_

_But I'm scared. Actually, 'terrified' might be a better word. I'm terrified because you're not here; I'm waking up at night plagued by my old nightmares, only to find that they're real. I'm alone. And now this, with the baby—you know how terrible I am with children! _You're_ the one with the parental skills. _You're_ the one with the kindness and patience and love. I'm just… me. Cynical, cold, intolerant me. How am I going to do this? _

How?

_The numbness of shock is starting to wear off and I know I'm going to snap. I've already gotten drunk three times in the past two days—worse than with Heiderich. I can't go over the edge now, I _know_ I can't… but I'm _weak_, Al. I've always been so weak without you…_

_God, I've got to pull myself together! I know I need to be strong for Annya; she's panicking, too. _She_ doesn't know what to do, either. And I know you'd be telling me to settle down, right now. I've got to breathe and be rational. _

_I can do that._

_But it's so_ hard_, Al. It's hard to make sense and be tough and move on without you beside me._

_Shit, I'm crying again. I can't let Annya see, or she'll worry. I've got to be calm. I've got to collect my thoughts. _

_I've got to put this journal away. _

_I'll try to write more later, Al, but it might be a while… It's hard to think of you, right now, and not fall to pieces._

—_Ed _

**X**

"Do I even want to know what you're doing here?"

The two teens in the hallway exchanged glances, as if trying to come up with some sort of plausible lie. Then the taller of the pair—the boy, with coal-black hair and dark honey eyes— grinned widely, his single silver earring jingling. "That's a stupid question, Ed. We're here to cheer you up!" He lifted a bag emitting a sweet-smelling aroma: French vanilla coffee, a specialty of Espresso Love, the cafe where both he and his female friend worked. Said female friend nodded, fixing her rectangular glasses with a long, pale finger.

Edward quirked an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe like a human blockade. "If Lisa wanted to cheer me up," he drawled, pushing a paintbrush behind his ear, "she'd have known better than to bring you along, Todd."

"You wound me," Todd quipped flatly, face momentarily expressionless, before swiftly reapplying his breezy, bright-white smile. "So are you gonna let us in?" he chirped, in a voice one might almost call "perky." "I can't wait to see what sort of dump you're wasting your money on." He began poking his head around Ed's body, nosily trying to peak in and see the flat.

Lisa, in contrast, just stared. An authoritative, white-hot, let-us-in-_now_-dammit sort of stare.

Resistance was clearly futile.

Sighing, Edward tugged a hand through his messy hair. "_Oh_… fine, sure, whatever," he eventually groaned, removing himself from the doorway and gesturing for them to follow him inside. Both did, exuberantly, and allowed themselves a moment to drink in the filth of apartment number 361 as Ed locked the door behind them. It really was a mess—paint and other art supplies had completely overtaken the main room. The white sheets that protected the hardwood floor from stains were covered in so many puddles of color that it looked as if Edward had melted a couple dozen rainbows. The kitchen, too, was a battleground of messy dishes and empty food cartons, but at least it had maintained a little order. While her friend pulled off his lab coat and dug out a fresh shirt from a pile of laundry in the closet, Lisa poked her nose into Ed's bedroom. That, at least, looked livable… there were even signs of him finishing his homework. She nodded, satisfied, as she returned to Todd, who had cast her a worried glance.

Edward noticed this with a furrowed brow, rebinding his long locks in a quick ponytail. "What?"

"Nothing," Lisa said quickly, smiling as she pushed a stray strand of blonde hair that fell from her messy bun behind her ear. The belled chopsticks she'd decorated the knot with tinkled merrily as she rolled back and forth on the balls of her feet. "I was just surprised to see your school stuff out."

"Well, yeah," Ed frowned, evidently perplexed by her shock. "I need to pass 12th grade, you know, if I want to get into college."

"So you _are_ planning on going to college?" Todd asked hastily, digging three foam cups out of his paper bag. Edward took his drink with a strange expression on his face, popping the lid open.

"Of _course_ I am," he replied, in a voice that let his two guests know how mentally competent he thought they were: not very. "I may have to take a year off to earn the money, but I still want to go to college. Why? And what're you guys really doing here, anyway?"

"We're just…" Lisa hesitated, shooting Todd a sideways glance. He picked distractedly at his football jersey, shrugging—apparently a bit embarrassed. She sighed as she continued, fingering her coffee. "We're just worried about you, Edward. That's all. And we wanted to come see how you're doing."

Ed blinked, genuinely puzzled. "Worried? Why?"

"_Why_?" Todd repeated incredulously, waving a vague hand at the easel he was standing beside. "Dude, you haven't used this much black since that week in ninth grade when your brother was seeing that Zena girl."

Edward scowled; Lisa gave the small ponytail on the nape of Todd's neck a sharp, reprimanding yank. "What he _means_ to say," the girl amended, ignoring her coworker's yowl of pain, "is that you looked extremely depressed on Monday—then you skipped out the past two days. And you don't seem to be talking to your family at all. At least, Rosie and Alex both looked… distracted… at school. You were so worried about them when you spent the night at my house; are you guys fighting or something?"

A pause. "…or something," Ed then agreed with a humorless chuckle, sliding down the half-wall that separated his living room and kitchen. Todd and Lisa mimicked the gesture, flopping cautiously onto the only two dry spots they could find. Even then, Lisa seemed uncertain, not wanting to accidentally stain her lacy white blouse. "It's nothing, really. My brother and I just had a… disagreement." He toyed with the lid of his cup, popping it incessantly on and off.

Todd pursed his lips, dark brown eyes narrowing in skepticism. "You two disagree on things?"

This time, there was a hint of amusement in Edward's laugh. "We used to argue a lot when we were little… I guess I'm just not used to fighting with him, anymore," Ed admitted, careful to keep his eyes on his drink. "But it's fine, really—I'm not mad, or anything. And I'm not gonna try to make him change his mind, if this is what he wants."

"…um, okay," Lisa said slowly, not really following Edward's train of thought; but he was being cryptic, so that seemed to be his intention. "I guess that's good, but—"

"As for school," Ed continued, as if not having heard her, "that was my job's fault. They needed someone to pull a couple of day shifts, and I knew I could use the extra money. Don't worry, I've told my teachers _most_ of the situation, and I'm getting all of my school work done. So I won't be kicked out of drama club for low grades, or anything, Miss Thespian President." He grinned at Lisa, who puffed out her cheeks, visibly indignant.

"It's not drama I'm worried about right now, you dope!" she huffed, gracing Edward with a scowl icy enough to challenge Rosie's. Even Todd cowered under the expression, staining the rear end of his jeans with paint in his attempt to scoot away. "It's _you_. You're obviously hurting over something and you won't talk to anyone about it! You just stay cooped up in here, alone… It's not good for you, and I won't stand for it!"

Taking this as some sort of cue, Todd nodded resolutely, jabbing his thumb at Lisa. "What she said."

For a minute or two, Ed simply stared at them, taken aback. Then he smiled slightly, shaking his head. "Really, guys… I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I'm fine. I just need time to readjust… and think. That's all. I promise, I'll be back in school tomorrow."

With that, he stood; swiftly, in a way that told Todd and Lisa to do the same. They did, though hesitant, allowing their host to lead them to the exit.

"Thanks for the coffee," Edward said politely, holding the door open for the pair. They lingered uncertainly by it, not really wanting to be ushered out into the hall. "And I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Well… all right, I guess," Lisa surrendered, blowing out her cheeks. Shouldering her purse with a shrug, she pushed herself onto her tiptoes and kissed Ed's cheek goodbye. He repeated the gesture, glaring when Todd moved to do the same. Todd laughed, albeit somewhat nervously, and backed off…

Until Lisa had vanished down the hall. Then his face hardened gravely; he and Ed exchanged glances.

"Look," Todd murmured, in a voice so serious and stern it hardly sounded like his own anymore. "She's really worried about you. And—all jokes aside—so am I. It isn't like you to mope around, and I know from experience that even the strongest of people can do stupid shit when things get bad. So call, okay? I don't care at what time. We're here for you, if you need anything."

Apparently speechless, Edward's eyes widened, betraying his surprise. After a beat, however, he nodded, softening. "…thanks."

Just as suddenly as his expression had toughened, Todd's grin became teasingly sultry. "And I mean _anything_," he purred, snorting when Ed's face flamed, dancing just out of the other boy's reach; racing after Lisa. "Whenever you wanna try something new!"

"_Screw you!_"

"That's the idea!" returned Todd's distant, sing-song voice.

"I AM _NOT_ SOME CHEAP LAY, MULTARE!" Edward screamed after the retreating back, positively seething as he slammed the door shut.

Regardless, he heard himself chuckle a moment later, unable to keep the small smile of amusement off of his face.

**X**

_December, 1955_

_Dear Al,_

_Your son was born today._

_I still can't believe it; Benjamin Alphonse Elric. Entirely happy and healthy… and after—or so I'm told—a perfectly normal pregnancy. (Not that pregnancy is ever "normal:" I swear, if you could have only seen Annya. And I thought _Winry_ with a wrench was scary.) I wasn't in the actual room when the baby was born—after Elysia, I've had enough of seeing "baby stuff." And we both know how "helpful" I am during stressful situations. _

_However, Gretchen had decided to stay with us for the duration of Annya's pregnancy, and was (luckily) with us at the hospital. She and Annya have become really close friends over the months, and she's a blessing around the house—always running around and helping me with odds and ends. She reminds me a lot of Lieutenant Ross… you remember her, right? She even looks a bit like her. Maybe that's why I like her so much. _

_Anyway, she went in with Annya, and was probably a lot more useful than I would have been. She must have been, because Benjamin came into the world just fine… at least, after hours and hours of labor. But afterwards, the doctor said both he and Annya were okay. _

_Of course, I didn't just take the doctor's word on their health—I made sure myself. _

_And I got to see him. _

It was… strange. It wasn't the first time I'd seen a new baby, or even the first time I'd held one. But when I demanded the doctors show Benjamin to me, when Annya let me pick him up…

_Sorry, Al, I know it was selfish, but when I cradled him— carefully, like you would have, because I could tell that he was delicate; tiny and helpless and beautiful—I couldn't help it. I fell in love with him. _

_Is it okay if I call him my son, too? _

—Ed

**X**

As he so often did when alone and annoyed, Alexander simply allowed his feet to lead him: through the hall, out the front door, down the paved streets… following some undetermined path in the radiance of the winter sunset. He smiled joylessly, mentally naming each color as it filled the heavens, remembering how furiously Edward would try to paint this sort of scene. He'd usually fail, complaining about how quickly the time flew by; how fast the reds, golds, violets, and blues shifted.

Alex wondered fleetingly if he was watching the sky now, through his dingy apartment windows. In response to the unasked question, his insides gave an agonizing lurch and the back of his throat stung; he bit the tip of his tongue to keep from whimpering. "_Damn it_," he muttered thickly, swallowing back the bitter lump in his throat and kicking a stray pebble. "Why am I so _pathetic_?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the chain link fence that had been built along the sidewalk. It jangled and clanked with metallic clarity, rustling through the still, cold air.

It was only then that Alex noticed his breathing, footsteps, and movements had not been the only sound. There was a creaking… shrill and rhythmic.

He looked towards it at the same moment a familiar, soft voice spoke: "No offence meant, Alex, but maybe you should worry more about talking to yourself out loud in public."

Alexander blinked, startled for a number of reasons. Looping his fingers through the gaps in the fence, he stared in shock at his destination: the playground. The same little park he had visited so often as a child, flanked by his siblings and grandfather. He hadn't been there in years, but it still looked the same: a row of old swings beside an aluminum jungle gym; a slide and rusting monkey bars in the distance. The ground, though covered in a thin layer of snow, was bumpy with small rocks and patches of dirt where the grass had been worn away, pounded down by hundreds of tiny feet. A scattering of maple trees interrupted the flat expanse of fenced-in safety, currently bare of any greenery, but normally lush with leaves and vines. And the entrance gate, when he pushed through it, squeaked just as noisily as it always had.

The second surprise—the speaker— beamed weakly at him as he neared, indicating the swing beside her. "You wanna sit for a while?"

He returned the grin with a little more enthusiasm, nodding. "Thanks, Amy."

She hummed her acknowledgment; stubbornly oblivious to the gaze Alex cast her, watching her with mild curiosity as he lowered himself onto a swing.

Amy Strayter was a pretty, quiet girl— a little rounder, perhaps, than most of the others in her freshman class, but with a kind face and intelligent chestnut eyes. She wore square-rimmed glasses with chocolate-colored frames that matched her short wavy hair, and was known to lug around more books than she could possibly read in a day. However, she had no books now—only a cheerless smile and woolen gloves that matched her ivory jacket. Pushing a booted foot off of the ground, she swung back and forth to a steady rhythm; the whining groan of the swing oddly comforting in the silence.

Amy cast him a sideways glance, the golden sunset glittering off of her spectacles. "Would it be rude of me to ask what the matter is?"

Alex chortled dryly, looking away from the younger girl and at his feet instead. "Maybe, but I'd say you have the right to. I guess I was sort of making a scene…"

"No, not really," Amy assured softly, looking out over the trees and towards the buildings crowding the skyline. "I've heard much worse. The only reason I said anything at all was because—well, I know you—and because you looked rather preoccupied."

"Did I really?" Alexander asked conversationally, though his eyes remained glued to his shoes. His fingers hesitantly curled around the chains of his seat; he gave himself a tiny push. "I didn't think it was that obvious."

If she heard the faint note of sarcasm in his tone, Amy chose to ignore it. Instead, she nodded, dragging her feet through the inch of slushy snow beneath her, slowing her swing. "I thought that maybe you'd had a fight with your… boyfriend… and wanted someone to talk to, or something."

Alex stiffened, hands clenched, jerking his head towards the girl. But now Amy was the one avoiding his eyes, ears and throat burning a bright shade of pink. She appeared slightly irritated in addition to wholly embarrassed. Horrified, Alexander felt his stomach flop, heart thudding loudly. "…How much do you know?" he asked, in a silent voice that wavered between petrified and biting.

Amy's flush darkened, brow furrowing. "Not much," she admitted, dragging the tips of her toes through the sludge. The darkening rays of amber sunlight morphed into a silvery indigo, littered with small, weak stars. The shimmer illuminated the dirty snow, making it sparkle like jewels. "Ever since Rosalie and I broke up we haven't—"

"_Broke up_?" The echoed phrase slipped off of Alex's tongue with an undertone of disbelief; he stared blankly at the girl beside him, utterly taken aback. "What do you mean, broke up?"

She blinked at him oddly. "As in, we're no longer dating…?" Amy clarified slowly, bemused by his alarm. Her bottom lip gave a subtle quiver, but she continued as if nothing were wrong. "We split up almost two weeks ago—didn't Rosalie tell you?"

"But _why_?" Alexander pressed, dismayed— and ashamed. No wonder Rosie had been looking so terrible… why hadn't she said anything? Hadn't she needed someone to lean on? Hadn't she needed someone to talk to? Why hadn't she told him?

Why hadn't he asked?

'_Because I was too busy thinking about myself.'_

It was as simple as that.

"Why?" Amy nearly glared at him, the puzzlement on her face twisting into an expression of incredulity. "Hasn't Rosalie told you _anything_?" She frowned at his flustered expression, turning away. It was getting more and more difficult to see her through the violet glow of twilight. "…maybe I shouldn't say anything, then," she muttered, more to herself than Alex. "She must not want you knowing how… never mind."

The squealing of swaying swings resonated through the night like a siren, filling the awkward silence with white noise. But Alexander spoke clearly over it, in a voice bursting with terror and dismay. "She told you, didn't she? About Ed and I."

Amy hesitated, eyes flicking towards him. "…yes," she cautiously confessed, readjusting her hold on the chains of the swing. "She did. Only me, though, so… you know, don't freak out or anything."

"I guess you didn't take it well?" Alex asked, stunned by how nonchalant he'd managed to sound. The girl giggled listlessly, nodding once.

"I think it's utterly repulsive what you and your brother are doing," she announced quietly, in a light tone better suited for discussing the weather. "And I told your sister so. She got really mad… called me closed minded and a hypocrite. I told her that it was better than being a—well, I really shouldn't repeat what I called her. I shouldn't have said it then, either; I didn't _mean_ it, but… we just kept fighting—over beliefs and behaviors and dumb habits until…" Amy hiccupped, eyes filling with sudden tears as her voice hitched and broke. Her glasses fogged as the heat of her tears collided with the frozen air; Alexander glanced to the side, innards squirming with guilt and dread and mortification. _'They broke up over _us?_,' _he choked, starting to feel ill. _'And then I… so Rosie's mad because…' _

He wriggled, uncomfortable. "I, um, didn't know. I'm… sorry."

Amy didn't respond, choosing instead to toe at a rock poking out of the snow.

Alexander swallowed. "I guess… I ought to tell you, then," he continued, almost inaudibly, "since you and Rosie don't seem to be speaking. My— er— boyfriend and I… we broke up, too."

The girl snapped her head up, eyes wide and wet.

"A few days ago," Alex continued in a rush, feeling as if he didn't say this now he wouldn't be able to at all. "At the mall. My mom had… said some things to me earlier that day that made me wonder how much she knew. And it scared me. I couldn't think of anything else all day; it felt like everyone around me knew my secret and was judging me for it. I couldn't stand it— and I had just read something that… didn't help me feel any better. So I… I broke up with him," he finished lamely, slumping lower in his seat. "I told him that it wouldn't work; it never could. That the world just… isn't ready for us."

He shot Amy a rueful smile. "Does that help? We're not doing anything utterly repulsive, anymore."

She said nothing; her expression didn't change in the slightest. Then she scowled, dark eyes narrowing. "And how is that supposed to help, exactly?" she inquired, a hint of coldness in her voice. "Where does it leave us? Now we're _both_ miserable."

Alex could think of nothing to say in response to that.

Amy sighed, leaning back in her seat. "Alex… I think incest is wrong. I always will. Nothing will change that for me, and not even Rosalie can talk me out of it. But I also know what it's like to be hated because you're 'different'… and it sucks." She squeezed her eyes shut, fists tightening around the chains of her swing. "So I'm not judging you. And I don't hate you, even if you and Edward… you know." The tips of her ears and the back of her neck burnt again, this time a vibrant crimson. "But… even if I _did_ hate you… was your brother so insignificant that you could write him off, just because others didn't agree with your relationship?"

The older boy stiffened, scowled; glaring at the rising crescent moon to keep from glaring at his companion. "_It's more complicated than that_."

"I know," Amy whispered, unfazed by his snarl, "But that makes your answer to my question all the more important."

Alexander didn't reply, only squeezed his hands around the swing chains until they stung.

The conversation was over, and they both knew it.

Amy stood with a rattle of playground equipment, removing her glasses so as to dab her eyes dry. Then she offered a small smile, pushing her fists deep into her pockets. "I gotta go home, now," she told him delicately, nibbling on her bottom lip. "My mom will flip out if I stay here late again."

Alex couldn't help it. "Again?"

The girl's grin saddened. "Rosalie and I used to meet here a lot," she shrugged, coloring a bit as she glanced doggedly to her right. "I keep hoping that she might show up… and we can talk."

"You should come over to our house," Alexander said steadily, not quite sure if this was an invitation or a command. "She's been staying home a lot, lately… maybe …"

Amy shrugged a second time, in a neutral sort of way. But the nervous fear was easy to spot in her eyes. "Well…I'll see you around, Alex."

"Yeah…" he agreed silently, watching her trudge forlornly out of the park. "See you."

The low wail of the swing set sounded even more melancholy when he was alone.

**X**

_February, 1960_

_Dear Al,_

_Life has been so crazy lately; I don't even know what to write about. We moved again, for one thing—to a little suburban town in Minnesota. It's a lot like Resembool; perhaps that's why I love it. There are so many trees and hills and fields... It's really rather nostalgic. _

_We got a small house on the edge of the subdivision: it's blue and shaped like a box. I kind of like it, in a weird sort of way. Annya planted red tulips in front of it, trying to make it look less—I dunno, box-ish—but only succeeded in giving the house the appearance of a three-dimensional Fourth of July poster. _

I got a job at the museum in the nearest city; that's why we moved. Gretchen came with us, too. The official reason is because she has family here and hated her job in New York. The unofficial reason is because Annya needed a friend, and Gretchen enjoys playing Benjamin's nanny.

_Speaking of, Benjamin just recently turned four. And though I swore to myself that I'd never be like Hughes, I couldn't help it… I carry his picture around. (Don't worry, I don't show it off to too many people.) He really is adorable: he loves playing catch, digging holes in Annya's garden, and spits out peas whenever we put them on his plate. His favorite song remains "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," even though Annya has tried desperately to teach him something new. And though he loves animals, you'd be disappointed—he seems to be allergic to cats. _

_He looks a lot like you, Al, and it almost hurts my heart to see it: same hair color, same facial structure, same eyes… though his are a bit darker, more green than hazel. His bangs even stick out like yours used to, when you were a baby: cow-licked and tousled. And I swear to God, I'll never see anything cuter than him running through the house in his footy pajamas, squealing for piggyback rides. _

_I miss you, when I'm with him. He reminds me so much of you when we were little. And though I know you're completely different people—and I'll always love you as such—it can be painful to see your smile on someone else's face. Even someone so lovable._

_Annya has trouble with it, too, sometimes. For the most part, we're getting along fine: we don't fight much, anymore, and are very convincing in our fake marriage. But she misses you, too; more than I care to admit. And I know she cries, sometimes, when she thinks I'm not around. _

_Regardless, she's a good mother and a strong person. Somehow, I know that she'll be fine. _

_You know what? I think I might be, too. _

—Ed

**X**

Mismatched footsteps echoed loudly through the misty dusk air; a brisk, steady rhythm broken only by the pausing click of a key. Once the lock was undone, the two shivering teens wordlessly cheered: leaping into the warmth of the large red truck and slamming the doors shut with twin sighs of relief.

Rubbing heat back into her frozen hands, Lisa turned to her companion. "So… what did you think?"

Todd frowned as the blonde revved up her car, resting his chin in his hand and gazing out the window at the oncoming night. "You were right," he said calmly. "Something big must have happened."

"But _what_?" Lisa asked, more of herself than of her friend. "I mean, Edward said that he and Alex used to fight all of the time… would another sibling spat really do this to him?"

"Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with Alex at all," Todd suggested, closing his eyes. Lisa cast him a quick, curious glance when they paused at a stop sign. "Maybe he's love sick."

"_What_?"

"It's plausible," the boy argued, visibly insulted by Lisa's cynical tone. "He's depressed, his artwork is black and blue, and he's _pouting_. Guys don't pout unless it's over something like love."

"This you know from experience, I presume?" Lisa scoffed, rolling her eyes. Todd made an indistinct noise in the back of his throat, brushing off her mocking comments.

"Just because he didn't _seem_ to be dating anyone at school, doesn't mean he _wasn't_. And c'mon, have you seen his face the past few months? This week excluded, of course. It was the face of a man who was gettin' some."

It was Lisa's turn to groan: distastefully, exasperated. "_Must_ you be so tactless?"

"No need to be jealous," Todd grinned, obviously enjoying himself. "If you want some, too, all you need to do is ask."

She retched when he purred, mischievously batting his lashes. "You _disgust_ me."

"I love you, too."

Lisa turned scarlet, but otherwise didn't comment. "So what're we gonna do about Edward?"

The older boy lifted a raven eyebrow, turning his head towards his co-worker's. "Nothing, of course." Predicting Lisa's outburst before it came, he held up a hand. "Look—nosing around in his business is only going to make him mad at _us._ Edward may be stubborn, but he's not suicidal, and he's not stupid. If he needs help, he'll call. He has before. Didn't he call you for help when he got kicked out?"

"Well…" Lisa reluctantly mumbled, "yes, but—"

"You see? He swallowed his pride, rather than sleep outside in a cardboard box. And if he needs to, he'll do it again. For now, all we can do is wait."

Grudgingly, she had to admit her friend had a good point—and his plan made a lot of sense. Still… "I hate waiting," Lisa grumbled, more to have the last word than anything else. She knew when she was defeated. "It makes me feel all antsy."

Todd smiled faintly. "Well, you better get used to it, babe. Sometimes, waiting is all you can do."

**X**

_September, 1971_

_Dear Al,_

_It's funny how quickly the years pass by—it's like I blink and they're gone. Benjamin's 16th birthday is fast approaching; I can't believe he's in high school. Homework, dating, sports… it's strange to watch him go through this, even stranger when he asks me about my "high school days." What can I possibly say to that? "I didn't go to high school. I've told you: I got a job with the government as a state alchemist when I was 12 and was busy trying to return my baby brother to his original body with the Philosopher's Stone." _

Oh yes, Benjamin knows all of our stories—he grew up with them. But that's all he thinks they are. Stories. And it's sort of hard to convince a sardonic teenager of another world, parallel to ours, where science is ruled by the principal I've been force-feeding him since he learned to open his mouth: Equivalent Exchange. So I usually just make some sort of vague grumbling noises and leave the room whenever he tries to ask.

_I think it's starting to frustrate him. He looks tormented about something, sometimes—and we get into a lot of arguments over nothing. But Annya says he's just being a teenager. I guess that's true, I mean, _she_ was like that._

…_and, all right, yes, so was I. (Happy? I said it.) _

_Another odd thing—those 'dates' I mentioned. It's weird, watching the little boy who used to be so proud about making spit bubbles get all dressed up to take a girl to see some movie in a dark theatre. I mean, she won't even be able to see him, anyway. What's the point? And…_

_And it's painful, watching him get all "mature," trying to be "independent." I don't like it. What if he does something stupid? What if he gets in trouble? What if he gets hurt? What if he hurts someone else? _

It's hard to concentrate on Date Nights; when he's out there being "mature" and "independent" with girls in movie theaters.

_My restlessness, of course, is a source of constant amusement for Annya. She teases me unremittingly, masking her own worry with the giggles she gains at my expense. But she apologizes and busies herself by making chocolate chip cookies, so I guess its okay. It's nice to hear her laugh… and to be with someone who cares as much for the same people as I do. There really is something to be said for bonds. _

_I've got to go. Our son just came back from another one of his dates—this time with some tramp he said was named "Julie." I should make sure she left him in one piece. _

–_Ed_

**  
X**

The clock read 9:02 PM when Alex finally pushed through the back door, edging into the shadowed kitchen with little more caution than a burglar. He had, after all, no desire to be seen or heard, even _if_ he was well within curfew; the thought of having to answer questions pertaining to his mood or travels only served to irk him. Mom was probably sketching in her bedroom, Dad most likely writing in his study. Let them stay there, and leave him alone.

He had other things to do.

Swallowing silently and slipping out of his jacket, Alexander marched resolutely through the hallway, face set but stomach fluttering. However, despite his fears, once he'd reached Rosalie's door, he didn't shy away. Instead, he knocked boldly, twice, before letting himself in.

Rosie was sitting on the ground amidst dozens of old computer parts, attaching stray pieces with the help of a screwdriver she'd stolen from the family junk drawer. Her back was to her brother, bluntly ignoring him when he cleared his throat.

Regardless, he pressed on, talking over her hushed humming.

"I'm sorry… about Amy, Rosie."

Rosalie froze; Alex could see the cords in the back of her neck tighten beneath the skin. Her baggy blue sweater slipped further down her rigid shoulder. Still, she didn't speak.

"I guess I understand why you're so mad at me, now," he continued quietly, squeezing the doorknob. His toes curled painfully around the shaggy carpet. "I didn't notice that you were hurting when I should have. And you put so much work into my relationship with… only to have us break up out of the blue. Considering why you and Amy split, it must have been a double whammy and sickly irony. So I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Amy, about things not working out for Ed and I… and I'm sorry that you're right. About me, I mean," he whispered, working to keep his voice casual. He wasn't going to cry, and he wasn't going to pout. He was going to be mature about this, dammit. "I've been really selfish lately… and an idiot, I guess. When I wasn't in denial over everything, I was complaining like a child. Then, when I had gotten what I wanted, I acted like a spoiled brat and… well, you know."

Rosie had yet to turn around, respond, or ask how Alexander knew what he did, but she had, at least, put down her screwdriver. Alex noticed this with a small surge of relief: she was listening.

"I guess I really suck at Equivalent Exchange," he continued with a listless chuckle. "Dad would be furious… You spent so much time helping me through my problems, and I didn't even bother to see if I could help you with yours. Heck, I made things worse. So… I guess I just wanted to let you know that I realize that, now. And I'm gonna try to be a better brother. Okay?"

He waited for a moment, but she made no sign of having heard him. Well, that was fine—she had a right to be angry. Alex nodded towards her, in spite of her turned back, and was just about to leave when he heard it—

A sniffle.

Alexander hesitated, bewildered. "Rosie…?" he murmured, inching into her bedroom. On the floor, Rosalie was lifting her hands, rubbing them furiously in the vicinity of her eyes; moving her arms to hide the top half of her face with her wrists. It was a gesture Alex hadn't seen since she was 5.

She was crying.

"Rosie? Rosie, what's wrong?" he asked desperately, crouching beside her and gingerly brushing her back. But rather than reply, she simply fell against him—sobbing noisily into his chest.

Startled and justifiably confused, Alex nonetheless wrapped his arms around her, waiting patiently for his little sister to calm down.

**X**

_May, 1979_

_Dear Al,_

_College. _

_It's another one of those things that I don't really understand, but pretend to, anyway. College is where Benjamin is coming back from—he studied creative writing (Annya was thrilled) and animation. He's talking about trying to put out a book, but he wants to get a steady job somewhere, first. So he's come back to live with Annya and I for a while, so as to look around and consider all of his options._

_Admittedly, it's rather pathetic how "big" this news is to Annya and I. Our lives have been sort of boring, with him away. The museum is keeping me busy with presentations and exhibits and all sorts of "Important Things;" Annya is filling her time by giving neighbor kids piano lessons. There's a girl in high school—her name is Teri, I think—who comes by every other day. She'll usually stay for tea following her lessons and talk with Annya. Sometimes she'll even come over when she doesn't have a lesson. She likes to hear Annya's stories, I think. She seems like a sweet girl. I wish Benjamin would date someone like her, for a change. He keeps seeing idiots like that "Julie" tramp. You'd think he'd find smarter girls at those big-city schools._

_Speaking of big cities… I took a business trip to Chicago, recently. While I was there, I visited the cemetery. Maybe that's why I took out this old journal again; you've been on my mind more than usual. It's still weird, and it still painful, to look at that headstone and know that you're underneath it. But at the same time, it's grown a lot easier. I'm not sure why… but it's like you're not really there. _

No, not in the "denial" way. But don't you remember what we discussed? Water, 35 liters; carbon, 20 kilograms; ammonia, 4 liters; lime, 1.5 kilograms; phosphorus, 800 grams; salt, 250 grams; saltpeter, 100 grams; sulfur, 80 grams; fluorine, 7.5 grams; iron, 5 grams; silicon, 3 grams; and trace amounts of 15 other elements. That's what's down there. The components of a body. But your soul? What made you, you? That's not.

_Maybe it's at the Gate. Maybe it's in Heaven—if there is one, ha. Or maybe you're still here. That's what it feels like, the most. Whenever something is going badly, or whenever I get too depressed, or whenever I see something wonderful, or whenever I smile. It's like you're with me, somehow…_

_I guess I sound nuts, don't I? But that's okay. It wouldn't be the first time!_

_I love you, Al. Still, and I always will. So much that it hurts, sometimes; but enough to know that I've got to keep moving forward._

_Just remember that. _

— _Ed _

**X  
**

Back when he still enjoyed coming to visit, Alex had decided to conduct an experiment with Edward's small balcony. Buying a thin wooden board and a tiny potted plant, his little brother had taken it upon himself to see if the rusted metal bars could support anything other than its own weight. To their great surprise, the small porch had managed to hold the itty-bitty cactus for a grand total of five minutes before making disturbing creaking noises.

They'd removed the pot and board and vowed—on pain of immediate, unavoidable death—to never step foot on that balcony.

Ed smiled at the memory, sliding the glass door open and easing himself onto the floor. It was a frigid night, cold and clear with a sky full of stars. The air was brisk and thin, the way it always seemed to be in wintertime, and as he lit a cigarette Edward wondered if Alex had remembered to pull out an extra quilt for himself. If he didn't, he'd have bad dreams.

The blonde frowned pensively, wondering if, perhaps, he should call Alex and remind him… But no: he was just making excuses to talk to him, something he knew he couldn't do right now. Not yet. Not without his heart throbbing terribly.

He was pathetic, there was no getting around it. Job or not, he knew the real reason he chose to skip school— to avoid seeing his little brother. If he wasn't there, he wouldn't have to watch Alex walk through the halls, head bent and eyes downcast, deep in thought; see him joke and laugh with his friends through the classroom doors; eye him as he lingered at his locker every other period, trying to remember what he needed for his next class. All of those little things that Alex did, all of those little things that drove Edward wild.

He was being stupid, and he knew it. He couldn't spend his life hiding from his family; he didn't want to. He still loved them, no matter what happened… no matter what _didn't_ happen… and he didn't want to say good bye. Especially not over this—he had known what would happen if things turned sour, he always had. It had been a risk he'd been willing to take, and consequences he'd sworn he'd see through.

But he honestly hadn't ever thought things would go wrong.

Sighing, Edward exhaled a stream of slate-colored smoke, watching it drift off into the cloudless sky. "I really meant it, you know," the boy whispered, as if his brother could hear him from wherever he was. "I only want you to be happy… but it would've been nice if you were happy with me."

He smiled drearily, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Slipping his legs through the large gaps in between the bars of the balcony, Ed found himself humming a childish tune, allowing his mind to drift with the melody. It was oddly easy, distracting himself from the cold that tore through his lab coat with old lullabies. "_There were two birds who sat on a stone_," he crooned softly, expelling a second ribbon of gray air. "_Fa, la, la, la, lal, de._" His grim grin brightened a fraction, remembering the summer days he used to spend singing in the park with his brother and sister, back when they were kids.

Maybe someday, he hoped—once he'd found the strength not to fall apart in front of Alex—they'd be able to do that again.

**X**

_May, 1987_

_Dear Al,_

_Do you remember that old rocking chair we bought in New York? The one with the fading yellow paint and the crooked seat? You loved to sit in it and stare out the window, watching the sunset while you pet your cats. _

That's what I'm doing now, though I'm writing rather than petting. Sitting by the window and rocking… The sunset is beautiful, and the movement is oddly soothing. Annya used to rock Benjamin in this chair, you know, when he was a baby. I think he's going to take it with him to his new house.

_Yes, Benjamin is buying his own house. With Teri, that high school girl Annya used to tutor. Because they're getting married. Tomorrow. (I guess Annya's a better matchmaker than I gave her credit for.) _

_I'm happy for them both, I really am. Teri is a wonderful girl, and Benjamin really loves her. But I'm worried about them. And no, not just because they're getting married. _

They're moving, too. To Japan_. Benjamin got a job with some foreign company and is being transferred there. I don't know how they managed to get a _house_, that country is fucking crowded. And expensive. And busy. And far away. _

Really far away.

I've been to Japan, before. You've been there, too. I suppose it was nice enough, but what's wrong with staying here? I don't get it.

_Well, all right, maybe I do. But still…_

_I guess 'goodbye' is always hard to say, no matter how often you have to say it, huh? _

— _Ed_

**X**

Rosalie had never been one of the women who could make crying look pretty. When she cried— which was rarely— it was a loud, messy, splotchy-skinned and red-eyed affair that she found unspeakably horrifying. This was why she tended to avoid tears. However, when they came, they came with vigor; Alex sat with her on the floor for over an hour, listening to the wails gradually fade into pathetic, wet snivels.

Eventually, she managed to sit up, face blotched and pink and moist with sticky salt. Her mascara had smeared, too; she ground the palms of her hands briskly against her eyes, highly embarrassed.

"Feel better, now?" Alex inquired warily, though visibly concerned.

Rosie nodded once, accepting the tissue he dug from his pocket. Blowing her nose with a sound similar to that of a foghorn, she sighed. "Yeah… sorry about that. I guess I just…"

"It's okay," he soothed, grinning and teasingly poking her side. "It's not like I don't cry all the time."

Rosalie smiled wryly. "I suppose."

Silence fell for a minute or two—not comfortable, but not exactly awkward, either. Just sort of heavy.

Alexander hesitantly tested the waters a second time. "So… does this mean you're talking to me again?"

His sister's small grin vanished, replaced by a scowl. "No," she groused, casting him a frosty stare. "Not until you stop being stupid and get back together with Edward. I know you still love him, Alex!"

"Of course I do," he replied agreeably, in a suspiciously detached tone. "He's my brother."

Wrong answer. "_Not what I meant,_" Rosie spat, smacking him painfully over the head with her screwdriver. Alex hissed, clutching his abused skull. "And you _know_ it."

"So what if I do!" Alex retorted, annoyance flaring inside of him. "Let's consider a few other things, shall we? One—what Dad will do to us if he finds out. Edward has already been kicked out, I don't want to be responsible for having him killed, too! And I don't even want to think about what he'd do to me. Then there's the future—_what_ future? Incest is _illegal_, Rosie, and not everyone is as accepting as you. We can't live our lives hiding in the shadows. We can't be together. It's just not _possible_. If we want to be happy… this is the only way."

Rosalie glowered, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're good at reciting the rules," she commented dryly. "But do you really believe them?"

No. "Yes," he said decisively, mentally beating his forehead against the wall. He was _not_ going to give in! This was for the _best_… it _had_ to be… "_Yes,_ I do."

Making a sickened noise in the back of her throat, Rosie turned away from him, working furiously on assembling her computer parts. Getting the feeling that she wanted to be left alone, now, Alexander got steadily to his feet, making his way to the door.

"Alex?"

The boy paused, leaning lightly against the doorframe. "Yeah?"

"You're being an idiot again."

Alexander smiled desolately. "Maybe I am."

He left, closing the door behind him.

**X**

_January, 1998_

_Dear Al,_

_I'm not sure how I feel about emotions. They're bewildering and fickle and only serve to confuse me, most of the time. Like now. So many happy things have been occurring, but so many sad ones, too. It all leaves me feeling sort of…I don't know, light-headed. _

_I guess I should explain. I'm writing this on an airplane. Unlike emotions, I _know_ I don't like airplanes. I swear to God this fucking piece of metal is going to crash into the ocean; how could it possibly stay air born? Last "air born" thing that I encountered squished me (well, Cullison, rather) flat. Stable my ass. _

But it's the quickest (and cheapest) way to get to Japan, so Benjamin says to stop whining and deal with it. (I guess that would be my influence, there.)

Yes, I'm going to Japan. And I'm going there to stay.

Only me.

_  
Annya passed away, earlier this month. It wasn't as distressing as when you died; more bittersweet. She just fell asleep one night and didn't wake up the next morning. She looked peaceful, though. Happy. And she had lived a full life. _

_I cried at her funeral, too; more than I thought I would. It really _is_ difficult to say goodbye to someone you've known for so long and have grown so close to. Annya and I… we'd become really good friends. You'd be proud of us, Al. That, and…_

_Well, it's like the end. Now that Heiderich and you and Annya; even Gretchen, who died a few years ago from lung cancer; are all gone— buried in Chicago, beside you… in graves I'll probably never see again— I'm alone. It's like a door has shut. Everyone who knew about my "old life," Amestris… even the ones who thought the stories were just fantasies… They're dead. _

_Except Benjamin, of course. But still, it's different with him. He's our son, a continuation, if you will, of the story. As much as I love him, there will always be a gap between us; our beliefs and experiences. It's a very lonely feeling. _

_But despite all of the sadness, there's been some happiness, too. Benjamin and Teri came to visit for Christmas, and they brought their new baby with them. He was born last November and—I couldn't believe it— was named after me. Edward Simon Elric. I blushed for the first time in years when I was told. Annya was simply thrilled to have a grandchild; she tried her best to spoil Edward rotten. Thankfully, he slept through most of the visit. _

_I wonder if he managed to sleep through the plane ride, too. If so, I'm jealous. I hate this stupid contraption… the fucking turbulence almost gave me a heart attack. _

_But in addition to the quickest and cheapest, this is also—apparently— the safest (HA!) way to get to Japan, where my new apartment is. _

_Benjamin bought it for me after Annya passed away. I guess he figured I wouldn't want to stay in our house by myself… it'd be too quiet. So he's moving me to the city closest to his house, so that he and Edward and Teri can come visit and "take care of me." (Because I'm such a high maintenance pet, I suppose.) _

_I don't know… I guess I don't mind leaving America behind, and it'll be nice to be by the remainder of our family, but it almost feels like I'm taking a step backwards. America is where we went to move forward, Al—now it's like I'm running away. _

_But… at least I'm still running, right? _

— Ed

**XXX**

_I've been watching the OVA that inspired this fanfic more and more often… and I think I love it more than I ever have, now that I "know the story" behind it. X3_

_Anyway, guys, next chapter is the _**LAST ONE**_! Well, they'll be an epilogue, too, but, you know… I figured I should give you some warning, so there it was. Hard to believe, huh? This fic has just flown by… O.o _

Don't worry, though, even after the epilogue, Skeletons_ won't really be over. There's still BS chapter three to work on, and a bunch of one-shots I want to write. (Specifically some for Rosie, who deserves much more "air time" then she's getting, and a few set back when Benji-papa was a kid. X3) Plus, I'll be posting a bunch of other goodies on the _Skeletons_ LJ community, such as the OST and some other surprises. X3 _

Thanks again for all of your support, guys! I'll write more soon. :D

_(PS. For the people who want to know the grandparent!Elric's ages—Al died at 45; Ed is 50 and Annya is 40 when Ben is born. CRAZY AGES, I know. But as Ben is only 60 nowadays (in 2015, anyway), he was obviously born _later_… _

_Well, I'm sure Ed was okay at playing daddy at 50. I mean, look at the OVA—he was up and kicking and still wearing automail like it was nothing at age _100_. And Annya is…er, was… strong, too, so… yeah. Just pointing out that I realize the ages are high for having kids. But they're a weird family, so there ya go. X3) _


	10. Letter Ten

_Disclaimer: FMA isn't mine, but most of these characters are. X3_

_Author's Note: Well, guys, here it is—chapter ten. The last one, ack! I can't believe it… and I still can't believe how much people enjoyed this fic! (I swear, I look back on the older chapters and cringe. ;) _

_Everyone ready for this? Deep breath… _

All right, here we go! Enjoy! XD

**XXX **

X

X

X

Dad and Grandpa had a surprisingly good relationship. I say "surprising" because Grandpa didn't have a lot of relationships _period_, much less "good" ones. At least, not when I knew him. But he and Dad had always gotten along fairly well: sharing inside jokes, discussing days gone by, going out to eat every two weeks or so. Their arguments—when they had them—were typically mild, usually consisting of Grandpa complaining about… well, whatever he happened to find annoying that day… and Dad telling him that he didn't know what he was talking about. Those spats would last a couple of hours, maybe a day, at worst, and then they'd both silently surrender and move on.

The last—and only— true fight I'd ever witnessed between them occurred when I was five. (Or, as I told anyone who would listen: "almost six.") I'm not sure how it started, but I'm sure of how it ended: an excursion to America. My second, to be precise.

I don't remember my first trip to the US; I was only a baby at the time. Essentially, I slept through it. I do, however, remember my second journey over the ocean—primarily because I was stuck in-between a motion-sick Al and a screaming Rosalie. Needless to say, the "vacation" didn't improve once we'd landed: Rosie was in her terrible toddler years, and Alex had the flu. Couple that with Dad's bad mood and Mom's general weariness, I think it's easy to understand why I acted like a brat the whole week. It wasn't like we did anything fun, either—we simply went to clean out a house.

Yup. We spent the week cleaning out Grandpa's old house.

Apparently—and I'm only surmising this, as I was rather young at the time and was kept in the dark because of it—Dad found out that Grandpa had never really sold his old house in Minnesota: he had simply left it sitting there with the doors locked. "A waste of money," my father had called it; Grandpa countered by saying it was safer than putting his things in storage. Furious at "the old man's impertinence," Dad had booked us a flight to his old hometown. Once there, he personally saw to it that the house was put up for sale, and that the rest of Grandpa's treasures were packed away in boxes. Boxes that, for the most part, ended up in our garage. Equivalent Exchange, I guess.

Though we spent the better part of seven days there, I don't remember much of what Grandpa's house looked like. I do recall that it reminded me of an M&M: blue on the outside, brown on the inside. Very brown, thanks to the wood flooring and walls and elegant oak decorations. Fancy, almost; prim. With an air of elegance.

An air that was shattered the instant my siblings and I walked through the door: screaming, fighting, sliding from room to room in our socks…

Another thing I remember is a feeling of profound disappointment: it looked like candy, but it sure didn't smell like it. I hated the smell of the place—it stank of _old_. The furniture, the trinkets (there were a lot of trinkets), the rooms themselves… they all reeked of "oldness." And let's just say that the décor didn't help: everything was outdated and well-worn, from the kitchen to the pictures on the walls. I spent a long time wondering how Dad could possibly stand growing up in a house like that, where everything was creepy and ancient and dull. Where was the park? Where was the TV? Where were the toys? He laughed when I asked him; said it had been livelier when his parents lived there—the house was always full of warm smells and music. (And yes, he'd had toys.)

As if on cue, Alex began to pound enthusiastically on the piano in the corner.

But the thing I disliked most about the old house—besides the age, and the smell, and, well, just about everything else— were the photographs. And they were everywhere, just like in Grandpa's apartment: all faded and gray and dusty and staring, with faces too familiar for comfort. Dad told me they were of Grandpa and his friends, but they sure didn't look like Grandpa. They looked more like… well, me. Or dad, or Alex. And a woman with Rosie's eyes. _Who were these people?_ I wondered. _Where were they now? Why were they smiling? Why wouldn't they stop? Were they watching me?_

It's funny, really, how a child's mind works. But still... I think, if I were to see those photos now,—now that I know of the people and places and times… I'd probably ask the same questions.

**X **

X

X

**XXX **

Skeletons

XXX

Silence, Alexander had long since discovered, was heavy. And awkward. And nearly as painful as listening to Elvis on the radio. At least, during times like this: stuck in the car with no one but his mom, both neck-deep in their own thoughts. Thoughts that Alex knew better than to share, though his mother, judging by the glances she kept flicking his way, desperately hoped he would.

Given the choice, he would have picked listening to Elvis.

And though Teri seemed to feel the same way about being submersed in silence—timid and uncomfortable—she had somehow come to the conclusion that forced conversation was the better ice-breaker, rather than the mercy of the radio. With that decision made, she readjusted her hands on the steering wheel and, trying to sound casual, asked: "So… do you want to drive home?"

Alex buried his chin deep in the palm of his hand, leaning against the window. The usual scenery crawled by; too tedious and familiar to hold his interest. He closed his eyes. "No, Mom."

His mother's lips turned down thoughtfully. "You need another 19 hours of practice before you can get your license."

"I'll practice later," he mumbled, taking a deep breath. Only another ten minutes to go, and he'd be there. Only ten minutes… But it was sure to feel like an eternity, stuck in the car with his mom. Why was it that when he got rides from Ed, this trip flew by; and now…?

He smiled wryly. '_Okay, stupid question._'

"—n't see Edward anymore?"

A warning bell went off in Alexander's head.

Straightening with a stab of dread in the pit of his stomach, the boy's eyes snapped open. "_What_?" he gasped, trying not to sound as petrified as he felt. Edward? Why was Mom talking to him about Edward? Had she figured it out despite—? "What did you say?"

Bemused by his reaction and unexpected blush, Teri arched an eyebrow. "I…uh, asked why you don't go see Edward anymore," she repeated, frown deepening. "It's been a long time since you last went out… at least, I assume so: you've had dinner with the family every night. Did you have a fight with him? Are you not talking?"

'_She really has no idea…_' Alex forced his body to relax, trying to disappear into his seat. "You could say that."

"Oh… I see," His mother murmured, sounding disappointed. Brow furrowing, she paused to let some pedestrians pass. Once they had and were waving their thanks, she spoke again, softly. "… I'm sorry."

"What for?" her son inquired, voice monotonous even to his own ears. "You didn't do anything."

"Sure I did," she whispered, apologetic and suddenly small. Her fingers tightened on the wheel; it was as if she were the child being interrogated. Bewildered and rather alarmed by this turn of events, Alexander watched her expression sadden. "I knew, didn't I? That you were meeting Edward—taking food from the cupboards for him, keeping him company, things like that. I took the thrill out of it once I told you I'd figured out what you were doing. But Alex, please understand: I didn't mean to scare you or spoil your fun. I just wanted to let you know that I wasn't mad. That I was proud of you for helping your brother." Teri smiled forlornly, eyebrows knit together. "That's all."

Alexander said nothing; the silence returned. But in the end, it didn't matter that he couldn't think of anything to say— that he couldn't decide how he felt about his mother's confession— because they had arrived at his piano teacher's house.

Like he had so many times before, Alex bolted from the car without looking back.

**X**

_November, 2001_

_Dear Al,_

_Life has been—for lack of a better word—rather dull, lately. I spend most of my time reading or writing…sometimes I go to museums, but doing so generally depresses me, so I've held back on that. Instead, I find new libraries and tear through their books and newspapers. Some of the nicer librarians even let me keep the older articles I come across; I've begun pinning them to the wall and making a timeline. _

_I told you things were dull. _

_But it's still nice, in a way. The dullness, I mean. It's nice to have time to think and read and drink tea and be lazy, without having to worry about what I should be doing. Of course, I'd get restless if that was all I did... Luckily, I do have other responsibilities. _

Such as babysitting our grandkids while Benjamin and Teri work.

Edward has a little brother and sister, now. I don't see much of Rosalie—she's only a few months old, so she stays home with Teri, more often than not. But his brother, Alexander, usually comes here with Edward. He's a sweet little boy, always carrying around a stuffed animal. Ironically, he looks more like you than Benjamin does; a nice companion for Edward, who looks more and more like a younger me_ every day. I have to say, it can be more than slightly disturbing— like an endless out-of-body experience. But most of the time it's clear that they are their own people, so I try not to think about it too much. _

_Except when I have to break up their many, many fights. Then I think about us. A lot. _

But I don't want to angst right now; I'd much rather write about Edward and Alex.

_They're certainly a pair, I've got to say—and whenever they're over, life is no longer 'dull.' Edward seems to have inherited my bad temper (or perhaps that's just him being the four-year-old he is) and has the tendency to pick on Alexander no matter what they're doing. So far, Alex has yet to rise to a fight; he prefers to just start crying. Either that, or he gets sick. _

When that happens, Teri takes him home. I can't stomach watching him when he's sick; I panic.

I'm sure you understand why.

On those days (and there are quite a few of them), it's just me and Edward. He acts like a brat sometimes, but he's really a good kid; usually I just give him some crayons and paper and he's set until it's time to go home. Other times, we talk. He has a hell of a lot to say, for being such a tiny thing. And it's funny—for all he complains about Alex, he likes talking about him the best. (Though now that I think about it, I used to be like that, too, didn't I?)

_Anyway, I've got to get going. "Nap time" is almost over, and I promised Edward and Alex a story when they woke up. _

—_Ed _

**X**

Piano lessons with Mrs. Marie Carter began promptly at 4:30 (the moment her young son had been put down for his nap), and continued—without interruption or pause—until the hands of the grandfather clock in the hallway indicated a full hour had passed. This was the way Alexander's Thursday afternoons had run since he was four years old; save the week Mrs. Carter had given birth to William, and the time he'd puked all over her baby grand and was sent home. Other than those two instances, however, the schedule was inflexible, unalterable, and rigorous.

As were Mrs. Carter's teaching habits.

"Wrong!"

_Slap!_

"Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, _wrong!_"

Alex yelped in pain as the well-worn yardstick eagerly re-acquainted itself with his raw fingers, pages of sheet music scattering in the wake of its path. "Ow!" he whimpered as the ruler slowed, half-heartedly rubbing the back of his abused hands. "That hurt… You didn't have to hit me so many times!"

"_And _you_ didn't have to _kill_ all of the fucking butterflies_!" Mrs. Carter roared, black eyes glittering maliciously as she jabbed at the fallen pages of Debussy's "Butterfly Etude." "It's supposed to be _joyful_, dammit, not a funeral march!"

"Well, chopping off my hands isn't going to make me play any better!" Alex snapped, forehead furrowing in irritation. He even mustered the courage to glare… though he directed the glare at the floor, rather than his teacher. (He _did_ wish to live though the lesson.) "Look, I screwed up, okay? I'm sorry…"

Marie quirked an eyebrow, inwardly startled by her student's defiant grumbles. Alex? Talking back? Shocked disapproval rolled off of her body in nearly-tangible waves; she lifted her beloved straightedge over her head.

Unsurprisingly, Alex quickly changed his tune, both literally and figuratively. Right hand plunking out the now-familiar melody, he lowered his eyes and bit his bottom lip, rapidly blinking. "I'm sorry," he mumbled a second time, though in a voice so clearly _broken_ that Marie realized it was no use.

The yardstick fell.

Well, she'd tried.

Sighing, Mrs. Carter lowered herself onto the piano bench, easily finding notes that complimented the nameless lullaby Alexander was picking out. Thankful for the temporary distraction, the boy slid down the bench to give her more room. Unfortunately, his teacher's silence was short lived.

"All right, Alex, this is getting stupid," she groused, tan brow puckering with edginess. Still, her ebony eyes held an unusual amount of worry; her voice gentle beneath its usual bite. "You've been moping for nearly forty-five minutes, now. We've gotten _nothing_ done. You've just butchered a masterpiece—a masterpiece that you chose _yourself_ and played _wonderfully_ last week. Something is obviously troubling you, and God dammit, we are going to discuss it _now_, because I will _not_ let some teen-angst problem get in the way of your performance."

Her thin, dark fingers outlined an ominous chord; she cast her protégé a warning glance.

For a long moment, Alex said nothing: careful to keep his eyes on the ivory keys, watching his hands dance across them. But after a cumbersome pause and another warning tap of the yardstick, he grunted, glancing out the lacy-curtained windows. "It's nothing," he mumbled weakly, jabbing at middle C. "It's dumb, it's just… I'm having a hard time… being a good person."

Marie glowered, crossing her arms over her chest. The movement disturbed her long dreadlocks; they swayed lazily, bouncing against her back. "I don't understand what you mean."

"I…" Alexander hesitated— then remembered the ruler. The information would only be beaten out him if he resisted… For some reason, the thought made him smile. Thinly, perhaps; sadly. But still. "I... well, I fell in love with someone," he admitted quietly, cheeks flushing crimson behind his curtain of hair. "Rather, I've _been_ in love with someone. For a long time, now… Then, a few months ago, we found out our feelings were mutual, and things were great. But…" Swallowing thickly, Alex pressed down on the keys until his fingers hurt. Why was it that whenever he told this story—no matter how often—he always felt sick at this part? "But we _can't_ be together. It's not possible. We have no future. Society and… and other things are in the way. So I broke up with… this person. Because that's the only way we'll ever be happy. But even though it's been nearly two weeks, I just… I just can't…"

His hands slipped off the keyboard; the absence of music was painful. Marie waited, for once patient… and Alex heard the words tumble from his tongue before he had a chance to stop them.

"I love him."

He choked, horrified; covering his mouth with shaking fingers. But despite the barricade, the words kept right on falling… "I _love _him. So, _so_ much… I never stopped loving him! But I don't want to be a burden to him— I want him to be happy. I want him to succeed. He can't do that with me around! And me… Even though it's selfish, _I_ want to be happy, too. I want to live _my_ life; I want to go places and do things! I know this _has _to get better, but my heart hurts so badly right now, I feel like I'm dying. I feel like… I'll _never_ be happy again."

Laughing bitterly, the boy took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "I know this must sound pointless to you; just another teenage drama. But it's… it's _different_, Teacher. It really is. And the more I think about it, the more it tears me up inside, even though I swore to myself that I wouldn't let it…"

Alexander broke off with a snuffle, mentally smacking himself with Rosalie's screwdriver. _How could he have said so much? Was he suicidal? _However, if Mrs. Carter had grown annoyed with his rambling—or horrified by his affections for another man— she didn't show it. Instead, she pursed her lips, meditative, and plunked out a mournful "Chopsticks."

Alex waited a minute, then, for lack of anything better to do or say, joined in. He continued to play even after his teacher decided to speak.

"Okay… let me make sure I have this right," Marie droned, like this was some huge bother, as her fingers jumped an octave. "You were in love with someone, but you broke up with them because…?"

"Because I want us to be happy," Alexander said glumly, fully sick of having to repeat this. "Do to our... situation, we can't ever be happy together."

"And I take it you're happy now?" Mrs. Carter inquired flatly, leaning away from the piano with a skeptic scowl. Her student didn't reply. "And your partner is happy, too, right? Because he took all of those risks you alluded to merely to be told he'd be better off without you?"

Still nothing.

"I see," Marie drawled, infinitely bored. Drumming her short fingernails against her lean forearm, she released an exasperated sigh. For a moment, Alex thought he might have to face The Ruler, regardless of his previous cooperation; but when she spoke again, it was in a much calmer tone— softer, somehow. Understanding. "Well, kid, it's your call. What you do or don't do doesn't affect me one way or another. Of course, the same could be said of everyone else."

Nonplussed, Alexander cast his piano instructor a sideways look.

"It's good that you're taking other people's opinions into consideration, I suppose," Mrs. Carter continued blandly, examining a family portrait hanging above the piano. "But Alex, at the end of the day, what does it matter to them? I mean, think about it: you're going to meet a lot of people in your life, no matter where you go or what you do. Still, no matter how long you know them, and no matter how long you're friends, you're still going to be stuck with _yourself_ and your decisions much, much longer. Until you _die_. And really, if you're going to be unhappy either way… why not be unhappy with the person who makes you happy?"

She grinned lightly, tilting her head with a wink. "You know?"

Uncomfortably aware of how much sense this logic made, Alex began to twist a lock of his hair, genuinely nervous. "…that's what Rosie says," he confessed softly, unable to keep his voice from cracking. "And Edward, too. But… but I'm not…"

"Not everyone can be as strong as your brother and sister," Marie soothed gently, warm eyes crinkling as she smiled. "I know that. And I know it sucks to be compared to them. But I'm not telling you to be someone else—I'm telling you to be who you are. To be someone you can live with at the end of each day. Because only _you_ have to—not anybody else, no matter what they say. Moreover, it's none of their business, anyway."

Alexander's lips curled sourly, trying to swallow a bitter laugh. "It sounds good when you say it, Mrs. Carter," he grumbled, "but people make things their business. It's just the way things are."

Marie shrugged. "If you say so. I'm not going to argue this with you, Alex; we'd be here all day. All I'm saying is that if someone really loves you, they'll want you to be happy. That said, I can see why you tried to do what you did; you really do care about this guy and think you're doing the right thing. But honey, let me put this bluntly: if he's in half the state you are, it's _not_ working." She chuckled; a rumbling, velvety chuckle that reminded Alexander of his brother. His heart thudded agonizingly against his ribcage, so loudly that it almost drowned out Mrs. Carter's next words: "I want you to be happy, Alex— as does the person _you_ care about. I'm sure of it… Just like I'm sure that you're _not_ happy now."

Alex faltered on an arpeggio. "Not happy now…" he echoed mechanically, silvery eyes veiled by thought. After a moment of absentminded silence, he shook his head, lips twisting into a scowl. "No… _no_. No, I'm _not_ happy, now," he repeated, eyes widening as if this were news. Of course it wasn't; he'd known all along how terrible he felt. But all the same… to be told so frankly by someone who had no idea… "I'm not happy at all!" he hissed, fingers flying across the keyboard as rage crackled to life behind the gray of his irises. "I'm _miserable_!"

With a whirl of auburn hair, he turned his head towards Marie, glowering. "And you know whose fault it is?"

Taken aback by her pupil's emotional 180, Mrs. Carter blinked. "Uh… whose?"

"_Mine!_" Alex snarled, hands moving faster and faster, pounding out what sounded like Beethoven's Fifth Symphony on fast-forward. "It's all my fault! Dammit all, but Rosie is right—every time I see a bump in the road, I panic and run in the opposite direction! I'm irrational! I jump to conclusions! I have a talent for taking great things in my life and ruining them, just because I assume something will go wrong! Because I'm too much of a coward to fight for what I want! Brother could do it; he _did_ it! He was mature enough to make a stand—why didn't I! God, why am I such an idiot! It's not a crime to be happy!"

By that point, tears were streaming down Alex's face—so fast and furious that he had yet to notice them; though his fingers kept slipping on the puddles they left on the piano keys. Plainly stunned, Marie could only watch his break down, unsure if speaking would cause him to snap. Hell, she wasn't sure if he even realized she was there, anymore. "It's _not_ a crime to be happy," Alexander repeated firmly, as though reaffirming this with himself. "It's not a crime for people to love each other!"

Banging out a final, rushed chord, Alex leapt to his feet and bolted without so much as a goodbye. The door slammed; William awoke with a scream; the grandfather clock chimed 5:30.

Marie blinked. "Um…"

Without warning, the door just as suddenly crashed open; a hurried voice shouted: "_ThankyouTeacherI'llbebacknextweek_!"

Mrs. Carter winced as the foyer shook a second time.

Then, with a careless shake of her head, she smiled; standing to comfort her baby. "There better be freakin' flurries of butterflies next week, that's all I'm saying."

She left the room with a quiet laugh.

**X**

_July, 2003_

_Dear Al,_

_It's lonely at night. _

_It's not so bad during the day—Teri drops Edward, Alex, and Rosalie off in the mornings, and I watch them until Benjamin comes to take them home. Once in a while, I go with them to dinner; other times I just say goodbye. I love playing with them, but it's nice to enjoy some quiet, too. _

_Sometimes, though, it's too quiet. Like at night. And I feel sort of empty. _

_To counter that, I've been re-reading this journal more often than usual; thinking back on other times and jotting memories down in notebooks—both for entertainments sake and to keep from forgetting. It's sort of cathartic, really… though I'm not quite sure what I'll do with the notebooks when I'm done with them. Maybe I'll give them to Teri. She seems to enjoy re-hearing the stories Annya told her, even if I'm the one telling them, this time. (After all, they were our stories to begin with.) _

_Unfortunately, remembering all of our adventures has the tendency to make me nostalgic. Depressed. Curious. Even now, I wonder what happened to them, from time to time; Mustang and Hawkeye and Armstrong and Winry and Rose and Noah and all of our friends. Do you think they ever wondered what happened to us? _

_Probably, though I doubt they'd have ever guessed the truth. _

_It's funny… our worlds— this one and our homeland— are both so big, and full of so many people and stories… and yet they're still empty enough to feel lonely on quiet nights like this._

—_Ed _

**X**

Teri Elric had never been a fan of surprises.

Squeaking, the grown woman dropped her book and nearly jumped a mile; pounding on her chest in an attempt to re-start the heart that had stopped when the car door slammed loudly—and abruptly—shut. "Alex, you startled me!" she breathed, rapidly regaining her composure. But though her frazzled nerves were calming down, her worry swiftly spiked; she anxiously watching her silent son buckle his seatbelt, glaring at the dashboard. "Alex…?" his mother blinked, baffled by sullen his behavior. Normally piano lessons cheered him up… "Sweetie, what's wrong? What happ—?"

"I want to go home," Alexander interrupted smoothly, his voice tainted by a steely, authoritative note that made Teri pause. Noticing the falter, Alex flashed his mom a brief, strained grin. "…please."

"A—all right…" Unsure of what to say to this, his mother nodded, pulling out of Marie's driveway and onto the road. Once they'd begun plowing through the streets, she cast her son another nervous glance. "Alex, you're shaking—!"

"I know," the brunette assured curtly, clasping his hands together. It was, however, no use: the trembling wouldn't stop. "I know, Mom, but don't worry. I'm fine. I just realized something important, that's all. And I've got to get home—there's something I need to do."

Teri digested this news, her face darkened by dozens of unformed questions. But when she opened her mouth again, having finally settled on one, Alex shook his head.

"Please, Mom," he whispered, nearly begging; curling up in his seat. "I promise I'll talk to you later, if you want, but not now. Right now, I just want to think. Is that okay…?"

His mother hesitated, pursing her lips. Then she nodded, an understanding smile touching her lips.

They drove in silence once more, but this time, Alex didn't care—his mind was whirling, swimming, and screaming too loudly for him to notice a lack of other noises. _'I _will _do this,_' he told himself. _'I'm sick of running and acting scared! I'm sick of being a spineless joke!_' His hands trembled fiercely; he resolutely set his mouth.

Fifteen more minutes and he'd be home…

Alex's stomach lurched, his heart throbbing painfully. He couldn't lose his nerve;he _was_ going to do this…!

Desperate to cling to every last ounce of courage and fortitude he possessed, the boy looked around for something to distract his writhing innards—something to keep his will strong until he got home. '_Something… anything…_!'

As they usually did, his hands found his grandfather's diary: hidden deep in the pockets of his cargo pants. Pulling it out, Alexander flipped to his bookmark…

And realized with a jolt of astonishment that he'd come to the final entry.

**X**

_September, 2005_

_Dear Al,_

_Today I have officially lived a century. _

_  
God, that even feels weird to write. _

_100 years… there have been so many times when I should have died, or I wished I'd die, or—hell, I _have_ died. And yet, here I am. _

_Edward, Alex, and Rosie came to see me, today. All by themselves, too—they were so proud of themselves for having made it. They were equally proud of the birthday presents they had brought me: Edward had drawn a picture of the four of us together, Alex had made a noodle necklace in school, and Rosie had picked a daisy and dandelion bouquet. (They flowers had long since died in her backpack, but I put them in water, anyway. It made her happy.) I had a good time with them; I think I laughed more than I have in weeks. But when it was time for them to leave and Edward told me "see you later"…_

_  
Well, I knew that he wouldn't. _

_Call it a premonition, if you will; or maybe just a feeling… but I think this is the end. In fact, I know it is. 100 years is a long time to run, Al. I'm ready to rest for a while. _

Actually, I'm kind of looking forward to it. After everything we've been though, death isn't that scary of a prospect. Even if I have to see the Gate again… what is there possibly left to take from me?

_Besides, that's where you'd be, right? Wherever death takes me… you'll be there. _

And I think that will be the best birthday gift of all.

_There are many things about my life that I, to this day, still regret. There are many things about my life that I'll always wish that I could change. But you… you and me, our relationship, our love… I wouldn't give them up for anything in the world. Hell, I would do it all again if it meant that we could be together. It would be worth it; every second. _

_I love you, Alphonse. I always have, and I always will. _

_  
I just thought that you should know. _

_I'll see you soon, little brother._

_Love,  
Ed _

**X**

"Alex? Alexander, honey?"

His mother's gentle voice shook Alex from his thoughts; he noticed with a start that the car was no longer moving. They were home. "Alexander, are you all right? You're crying…"

Which really, Alex thought with a sardonic grin, shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone, anymore. Regardless, he beamed at his mother, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and stuffing the little book back into his pocket. "It's nothing," he assured, clearing his throat with a tiny cough. "Just a bit of motivation."

Teri's features contorted with confusion, but—as asked— she didn't inquire any further. Instead, she watched noiselessly as her son unbuckled and marched from the car: face stony and wet and flushed with determination. But determination to do what?

More than slightly curious, she followed him inside.

**X**

Benjamin Elric was a creature of habit. There was a rhythm to his life, a flow to his daily activities. He woke up at 4 AM, jogged for half an hour, showered, and left for work by 5. There he stayed until 5 PM, returning home by 6. After changing into more comfortable clothes, he settled down in his study to read, write, or—if the urge struck him—work some more. The family ate dinner at 8, then spent "quality time" together (usually in the form of watching TV) until 10. After that, he generally went to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Of course, the benefit of this repetitiveness was that when Alex stormed into the house at 6:08, he knew exactly where to find his father.

"Come in."

Alexander took a deep breath, lowering the fist he'd used to knock on the thick maple door. It was now or never… Nodding to himself, the boy entered Benjamin's study.

The study was, perhaps, the fanciest room in the Elric household. Decorated with dark green wallpaper and luxurious cherry wood furnishings, the study was illuminated by two slim, silver lamps and an elegant bay window. Directly beneath the window was a built-in bench, covered in burgundy pillows, and beside it, shelves full of books. In the corner, on large oak desk, sat an expensive, whirling laptop. And behind the desk, in a black leather swivel chair, sat Benjamin Elric, reading a newspaper and twirling a pen between his fingers. When Alex walked in, however, he lowered the paper and pen and smiled, spinning around in his seat and readjusting his glasses. "Ah, Alex! This is a surprise. What can I help you w—have you been crying?"

'_Why is that such a surprise to people?' _"Dad," Alexander declared, deciding to ignore his question, "I have to talk to you. Now." Taking a single step into the room and closing the door behind him, the brunette subtly squeezed the brass doorknob between his clammy fingers. "It's important."

Apparently torn between mild concern and general perplexity, Benjamin arched an eyebrow, fixing his full attention on his youngest son. "Yes…?"

This was it. Heart thundering in his chest—so quickly he feared it might pop—, Alex released the doorknob, standing straight and tall. He wasn't going to back down; he wasn't going to crumble. He was going to do this… for both of the Edwards in his life. "Dad," he proclaimed, in a voice so oddly calm that he nearly fooled himself, "I'm gay."

Silence. Much like the kind in the car—only infinitely more foreboding.

Gradually, Benjamin Elric began to turn a pasty shade of white, face a mask of surprise. "W…?"

"I'm gay," Alexander said again, astonished to find how light he felt after the admission had left him. "I've never really liked girls, not even Zena. At least, not in _that_ way. But there _is_ this guy that I've been in love with… for a long time, now. And I thought I'd let you know, because I'm tired of having to hide it."

Alex paused, watching to see if his father had processed any of his speech. It was hard to tell: Benjamin's mind appeared to have stopped working upon hearing the word "gay." Though it didn't really matter; that was the important part of the announcement, anyway.

Not wanting to shatter any remaining portion of his father's brain, the brunette waited for Benjamin to come out of shock. He didn't have to wait long.

"You…" his father gaped, choking on words. His cheeks were darkening, splotching dangerously. Alexander inched backwards, but held his stance. "You… no. _No_. No, it's just— you're just—"

"Dad," Alex firmly interrupted, trying to quash his growing frustration as Benjamin bolted to his feet, pacing in place. "Dad, please. Just listen! I really am—!"

"No!" his father snapped, whipping around to face his son. "No! You're just confused! You've just been around Rosalie and— and Edward and—!"

"_No!_" Alex roared—so loudly that Benjamin faltered; so loudly that the two women lurking behind the door both yelped, revealing their shared hiding place. But Alexander didn't even pause long enough to glare at his sister and mother: he was too angry to care. "No! It's not Rosie or Ed's fault! I've always been this way, just like Edward has! Why can't you understand that? Why can't you just accept it? It doesn't change who I am! It doesn't change who Brother is! Is your love so conditional that we can't even be who we are?"

Benjamin froze, eyes widening; fury bubbling just beneath his skin. "_Now listen here_—" he snarled venomously, but was cut off by a furious chop of Alexander's hand.

"_You _listen here!" the boy screamed, so enraged that he wasn't even trembling anymore. Hell, he felt wonderful—he felt _free_. All of the guilt and stress and dread and rage he'd kept bottled up for so long had finally broken through, and he couldn't believe how good it felt to let it out. "All this time I've thought there was something wrong with _me_, but no—something is wrong with _you_! God, if Grandpa could see you now—!"

In an instant, his father found his voice again, eyes flashed warningly. "Don't you _dare_—!" Benjamin began in a virulent rumble, but was utterly ignored.

"_Shut up_!" his son spat, fingers curling into fists; nails digging so deeply into the palms of his hands that they started to bleed. "Just shut up! You know it's true! If you can't love _your_ children for who they are, then—then— then even _Grandpa_ would hate you!"

Staggered, his father gaped wordlessly, all blood rushing from his face. His mother and Rosie simply gawked. Alexander allowed himself three deep breaths.

Then he ran.

"Alex—?" Rosalie started, frantic; moving to follow her brother down the hall. "Alex, wait! Where're you going—?"

"_I'm going to see Edward_!" the brunette screeched, so much adrenaline pumping through his small body that he couldn't stop yelling or stomping or panting. His feet flew across the hardwood floor; he ripped open the door.

And there stood Amy, face paling in shock, a finger raised to ring the doorbell.

"Er…" the younger girl choked, turning scarlet.

Behind him, Alex could _hear_ Rosie stiffen. Their mother, too, paused. Benjamin, on the other hand, was noticeably absent: probably still in the study, digesting what had just taken place. Or raiding the liquor cabinet. Either way, Alexander didn't give a damn. He had only one goal, right now—and nobody was going to stand in his way.

"_I'm gay_," he told Amy fiercely, yanking on his shoes and jacket with so much force that they nearly ripped. The girl in the doorway watched this blankly, unsure of what the hell was going on. Alexander fixed her with a ferocious stare; she gave a double take.

"Uh…" Amy gawked, only then remembering to lower her hand. Cautiously, her eyes swept over to Rosalie, darted to Teri, and then returned to the fuming Alex. "Okay…?"

Alex nodded, apparently pleased by her acceptance, before continuing confidently. "I love him, you know."

The girl blinked, momentarily startled. But to Alexander's mild astonishment, the expression of bewilderment quickly melted away: replaced by a warm, meaningful smile. "…I know you do."

That was all that needed to be said. Flashing Amy a grateful grin, Alex rushed past— and as he did so, he saw Rosie beam; quietly asking Amy if she wanted to come in.

**X**

From personal experience, Alexander knew that the walk to Edward's apartment was half an hour. He also knew that—if he chose to take the bus—the trip would be less work, but lengthened by as much as ten minutes. Finally, after many nights of "calculations," he had determined that traveling this path with Edward _himself_ could take anywhere from 35 minutes to an hour. (Depending, of course, on how playful they were feeling that night.)

Up until today, however, the boy had been unaware that running the whole way would shorten the journey down to a measly sixteen minutes and 48 seconds.

Tightening his jacket around his body, Alex bolted across the slush-covered streets, leaning into the biting wind. "Almost there…" he told himself, concentrating all of his strength and energy on getting to that dumb, hazardous, disintegrating apartment that he'd missed more than words could say. He was only a block away, now— yes, there was the bank, and the grocery store, and the coffee shop. "Almost…!"

And there it was. As old and rundown as it had ever been: unsafe, unprotected, and—in his eyes— perfect. For once thankful for the unlocked doors, Alexander raced inside, jumping up the disgusting, stained steps two at a time. He was winded by that point: exhausted and sure that the smoke-scented air was wrecking havoc on his lungs, but really, who cared? Nothing could stop him now, not when he was so close—!

361.

His feet turned to lead; all air left him; his body stood, immobile. "Edward…" he heard himself whisper, voice bursting of so many different emotions that even _he_ couldn't decipher them all. But that didn't matter—the only thing that did was seeing his brother. "Edward!" Alex repeated, louder this time; accompanying the shout with a loud knock. Really, it was more like two-fisted pounding… "Brother! Brother, please open the door!"

There was no sound on the other side; no movement and no response.

Involuntarily, Alexander's heart began to speed up again; sheer panic gnawing on his gut. '_Why isn't Edward opening the door? Am I being ignored? Is he still angry? Is he not there?_' Alex's eyes widened, a lump forming in his throat.'_Oh God, he can't not be there! Where else would he be? He wouldn't have left, would he? Not without telling us, right? But—but we were all ignoring him, so maybe—!'_ "Ed! Edward!" Alex yelled, bashing his hands against the door until they started to bruise. Of all the times to have left his key at home…! "Edward, _please_—! I'm sorry! I… I'm _sorry_, Brother! I'm sorry…"

Hiccupping, Alexander slid down the wall, head hanging low and thin chest heaving. "_Dammit_—!" he hissed vehemently, dark eyes jammed shut against tears. "Dammit, this is _not_ the time to panic…!" No— no, he couldn't panic. He couldn't overreact. Overreacting had gotten him into this mess in the first place; he was going to be calm about this. Rational.

'_Edward can't have left,_' Alex thought decisively, clenching his sore fingers. '_He _can't_. He wouldn't have… not without saying good-bye, at least. And, I mean, it's not like he hasn't been around. He's been at school… I think. I don't see him much, but there'd be gossip if he didn't show up… no, he's not gone. He's _not._ He's probably out taking a walk, or at work, or something. I'll just wait here until he gets back…'_

Alexander forced himself to take a deep, cleansing breath. But even that couldn't stop the poisonous thoughts from entering his head: _What if he _doesn't _come back?_

Worse yet, what if he came back and refused to talk to him? What if he came back and told Alex that he hated him? What if he just pretended that Alex wasn't there?

For the second time in less than five minutes, sheer horror tore at Alexander's insides; a pathetic whimper oozed from between his quivering lips. "_No_," the boy hissed, clawing at the shabby wallpaper with his wavering hands, face lowered and hair curtaining his view. "No! I will not cry… I will not panic… I will stay calm and wait and everything will be okay. I will not cry… I will not panic…. I will stay calm and wait and e—!"

"Al…?"

There was a piercing ripping sound as Alex accidentally tore off a chunk of wallpaper, jolting upright so fast that he nearly lost his balance. "Edward—!"

And it was. Dressed in those old jeans, a gray turtleneck, and his colorful lab coat, Edward Elric stood; head cocked, long hair loose, a grocery bag resting against his left hip and his keys in his right hand. Apart from the expression of disbelief on his face, Ed looked exactly like he always had: tall and beautiful and everything Alex had ever hoped for. It was a sight so delightfully familiar that it brought tears to Alexander's eyes: huge, seeping crocodile tears that he didn't even bother trying to stop—he just let them flow, landing in huge drops on the grimy carpet.

Edward's eyes widened; he dropped the paper sack beside his feet. "Al? Alex, what're you doing here?" he asked, sounding both shocked and fretfully worried. "What's wrong—what happened? Are you—?"

But Ed trailed off the moment Alexander spoke.

"I'm sorry."

The older boy's jaw slackened in incredulity, unsure whether or not he'd heard right. It was an understandable hesitation: Alex was crying so hard, it was a bit difficult to understand what he was saying.

But he continued anyway.

"I'm sorry," Alex reiterated, silver eyes locking with the vibrant gold of his lover's. "I'm _so sorry,_ Brother… I didn't mean to hurt you, I only wanted to help— I did! _I really did—!_ But the more time passed, the more I realized that I wasn't helping anyone, and I missed you, and Rosie got mad, and Amy did too, and Teacher told me that I was being stupid, and I was, and I _couldn't stand_ _being away from you_ anymore, andsoItoldDadIwasgay,andthenIcamehere,becauseIneededtoseeyousothatIcouldtellyouhow_sorryIambecauseeventhoughItriednotto,Iloveyou,andI'msorryIdidallofthis;IwasscaredandstupidandchildishbutI'verealizedthatIwanttoworkforusbecauseIloveyousomuchandI'msorry!_" he babbled, so rapid and breathless that Edward had no chance of catching a word, but he listened intently just the same.

And when Alex finished with a wet, shaking sniffle, he smiled.

Then he opened his arms.

Without another word, Alex fell, sobbing, into the well-missed warmth, never wanting to let go again.

**X**

"Do you think these are all right?"

"Yes, Al, they're fine."

"I don't know… maybe we should just bring them home and put them in a vase. Do you think he'd like that more?"

"They're already dead, Al. They'll only get deader wherever you put them."

"Yeah, but we could appreciate them longer… I think he might like that. Or maybe I should just plant flowers… geez, I should have thought this through! I don't even know if he _likes_ Tiger lilies!"

The brunette's heated rant was interrupted by a laborious sigh.

"Alex," Edward groaned, clearly exasperated, "relax. He is— like the flowers— _already_ _dead_. I really don't think he'llcare one way or another."

"Brother!" Alexander snapped, cheeks pinking as his eyes narrowed coldly, "don't be so heartless! Just because he's dead, doesn't mean you shouldn't consider his feelings! I don't want to insult his memory…"

Deciding it'd be safer not to comment, Ed instead chose to roll his eyes, fixing the kickstand of his motorcycle. Rather, fixing the kickstand of the motorcycle he'd snitched from Todd's impressive collection. (Stupid rich kid and his expensive toys.) Alexander patiently watched him do so, cradling a bouquet of brilliant orange flowers in his small arms. At the same time, the alarm on his wristwatch beeped: they were officially late. Regardless, neither seemed to be in any sort of hurry; when Edward straightened from his inspection with a lazy nod, Alexander smiled, taking the hand offered to him.

"Do we remember where we're going?" the older boy inquired with a jovial lilt, brushing past a snow-heavy pine and shaking the flakes from its ever-green branches. Alexander made a vague sort of gesture with his shoulders, eyeing the hazy, gunmetal sky.

"I dunno, I was sorta planning on following you."

"Wonderful," Ed smirked, chuckling under his breath. "Rosie will maim us for keeping them waiting… but if I'm gonna be helplessly lost—or maimed—, I'd much rather be so with you." He paused before adding in afterthought: "Though hopefully we'll only get lost."

Alex snorted. "Lost, huh? That sounds rather romantic," he complimented, grinning humorously and tightening his mitten-covered fingers around his brother's. "You and I, an empty…field… the promise of a storm, and a bunch of old dead people."

There was a beat of stunned silence, then Edward laughed out loud; voice bouncing through the cemetery as a frosty wind toyed with his ponytail. "'A bunch of old dead people'?" he echoed, still snickering at Alex's bluntness. "Geez, Al, who's heartless now?"

Alexander—in usual fashion— colored at Ed's teasing tone. "Well, it's true…" he protested weakly, burrowing his nose in his scarf. "It's a graveyard, and everyone…you know…oh, shut up!"

"Sorry, I can't help it," Edward chortled, ignoring the elbow Alex jabbed into his side, nuzzling the top of his younger sibling's head. "You're just so cute!"

The brunette turned bright crimson, but said nothing else.

"Hey! Ed, Alex! Over here!"

"Huh? Ah, there you are, Squirt!"

Waving, Edward steered his little brother to the right, towards the excited, beckoning Rosalie. Upon being noticed by her older siblings, Rosie beamed and dropped her hand, whispering something to Amy, who stood beside her, clutching a dozen white roses. Whatever Rosie said must have been disturbingly raunchy, however, as Amy's mouth proceeded to form a horrified "o;" her pale cheeks turning magenta. Then she smacked her girlfriend playfully on the arm.

"Hi guys," Rosalie greeted sweetly (much too sweetly) when Ed and Alex neared, trying and failing to muffle a snicker. Edward shot her a bemused sort of glare before shrugging; Alexander merely shook his head. "What took you so long?"

"Al couldn't decide what sort of flowers to bring," the blonde drawled, ruffling his little brother's long hair. Alex bat weakly at the offending hand, but his blush continued to darken, regardless. "So we stood in Pick 'n' Save for an hour and a half, debating the pros and cons of everything from carnations to roses."

"I hope there's nothing wrong with roses?" Amy asked, indicating her own. Edward scoffed, though clearly amused.

"I dunno, you'd have to ask Al. Apparently they might give the wrong message, or something."

"Shut up!" Alex huffed, tugging self-consciously on his bouquet's red ribbon. "I just want to do this right, you know? I feel like I owe Grandpa a lot… Equivalent Exchange, and all." Hidden in his pocket, the diary bumped his leg.

Agreeing with a beam, Ed looped his arms around Alexander's neck, resting his chin on his shoulder. In response, the brunette squeaked, unprepared for the pair of warm lips that brushed the back of his neck. "Good point, brother-mine," the older boy whispered, voice silken and pacifying as he snuggled closer. "D'you think I should go get some honeysuckle?"

"Don't patronize me," Alex demanded bitterly, but purred all the same; running a fond hand down Ed's face as their mouths tenderly met.

Instantaneously, Amy looked away, embarrassed; their sister mock-cheered. Both boys blushed a charming shade of ruby, unable to keep their lips from twitching upwards in wide smiles. Pulling back with an affectionate nip, Edward turned to the girls and grinned like the Cheshire cat. "Shall we get going?"

"Sure," Rosie easily agreed, jabbing a thumb behind her. "He's this way. C'mon."

**X**

The setting sun was gradually darkening the already hazy sky as the four teens neared the plain gray headstone that marked the resting place of the Elric's grandfather. Egged on by the cold, dwindling sunlight, Amy and Rosie quickly nodded their respect; leaving their flowers with hushed murmurs neither boy could hear. Then, with encouraging smiles, the younger pair scampered off into the misty shadows—calling their goodbyes.

Edward and Alex stood alone.

"…That was abrupt," Ed blinked, torn between amusement and bewilderment at the girls' antics. His arms slipped around the brunette's waist; he rested his cheek on the top of his head. "Did we do something wrong?"

Alexander grinned faintly, staring down at the small stone grave. "I think they're just trying to be polite," he explained, fingers tightening around the Tiger lilies. "This is sort of… personal, I guess."

Edward chuckled when Alex hesitated, unsure how to explain himself. "Relationships usually are," the older boy smirked, kissing his sibling's crown "Though your relationship with the old man is certainly a unique one, thanks to that diary." He glanced down at the gravestone before swiftly looking away again. Wondering vaguely if seeing his name written on a tombstone would ever stop being creepy, he added in afterthought: "Will I ever get to read it?"

Alexander hummed thoughtfully, considering. "Maaaaybe," he eventually decided, speaking in a taunting, sing-song voice. His lips curled back in a devious beam. "It all depends. What'll you trade me for it? Equivalent Exchange, you know."

"Oh, of course. Let's see," Ed pretended to consider, clucking his tongue distractedly. "Well, I _suppose_ I could let you be on the top…"

Eyes widening, Alex hurriedly twisted his head and opened his mouth to agree—but closed it just as hastily when he spotted Edward's teasing leer.

"…bunk when I come to visit you at home."

The blonde snickered as Alex pouted, hitting his arm in retaliation. "You suck," the younger boy griped, brow crumpled in immature anger. "And not in the good way, either! Well, not right now, anyway…I mean—oh, leave me alone!" Alexander's face flamed as Edward clung to him, acting as his support when he doubled over with laughter. Deciding it'd be wisest to stop while still in possession of a few shreds of dignity, the brunette waited noiselessly for his lover's snorts to subside and his own blush to vanish.

Once they had, the mood became strangely somber.

"So… you're really only going to visit?" Alexander questioned after a silent moment, fiddling with the bow on his bouquet. He felt his brother's arms tighten around his hips, long, pale fingers tracing invisible designs down his sides. "Even after Dad…?"

A tiny smile tugged on the corners of Ed's lips; he closed his eyes, relaxed. "I can't move back in, Al. I'm sorry… but there's no point. I'd just be leaving again at the end of the school year, and really—Dad is already going through enough right now. Small steps… that's all I want for us to take. It'll be easier that way. Besides," he added with a mischievous poke. "I don't think I'd be able to control myself around you. Just because you haven't been kicked out yet, doesn't mean you're immune to it."

"If I was, I could always go live with you," Alex suggested delicately, trying not to look too disappointed when Edward gave his head a reprimanded bop.

"Alex, I've already told you," Ed said stubbornly, though he sounded more drained than annoyed. "You can't. Not now. _Small steps_… I want to take things slowly—especially after seeing what you can do when you jump to conclusions." Alexander flushed a humiliated shade of maroon as his boyfriend continued. "Don't worry—we'll see each other. You're still invited to visit my apartment whenever you like; maybe you can even sleep over once in a while, now that Mom and Dad have decided to 'un-disown' me. But if we make things look too suspicious…" Edward held his brother protectively, sighing. "Besides, your senior year is coming up. You'll have to worry about studying for college exams."

"Speaking of…" Craning his neck to the left, Alex blinked up at Ed. "What about you? Are you going to college next year…?"

The blonde grinned sheepishly, straightening and scrubbing the back of his neck. "Nope. Broke. I guess I really am gonna have to take the year off and work. But hey… we can be freshman together, yeah?"

In response, Alexander smirked, eyes glittering impishly as he waggled his eyebrows. And Edward, for the third time that day, burst out laughing. Glowing with satisfaction, Alex's smile lengthened; he'd missed that sound when they were apart.

In the distance, the wind rushed; trees rustled and cars honked. As his sibling's chortles fell away, the other sounds grew louder—reminders of the world around them. Still, the brothers smiled, linking hands as the world grew darker.

"…we'd better get going," Edward decided, checking his watch. "Or else we won't be able to find my motorcycle."

"How did you talk Todd over of parting with it, anyway?" Alex asked with an inquisitive frown. Ed smirked.

"I can be very convincing when I want to be."

Smartly, he decided to leave it at that. After all, if you don't _really_ want to know the answer, you really shouldn't ask the question. And Alexander had more important things to do than figure out cryptic messages…

With a gesture that said he'd be ready in a minute, Alex took two steps forward and knelt before the little headstone, sweeping the snow from the top as he offered his flowers. _'Hey, Grandpa_,' he thought affectionately, fingertips slipping over the graceful, carved name. _'It's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry about that—I guess I never realized how much I have to thank you for. And not just for the stories and the memories, or even the diary… but for being such a strong person; for being someone we can lean on, even a decade after your death. I know you weren't famous here, like you were in the world you called Amestris… but you _were_ still a hero. To me, to my brother and sister, and to my Dad. And I know that I owe you more than all the Tiger lilies in the world can repay, so I thought I'd make you a deal. In exchange for your wisdom and help, I promise to bring you flowers whenever I can… and to become a man you can be proud to call your grandson. Is that fair?'_

With a grin and an affirmative nod, Alexander pushed himself back to his feet, dusted off his pants, and spun to face his brother. Edward arched a questioning eyebrow as he took Alex's hand, sensing he had something he wished to say. "Yes?"

"It's just…" The brunette wavered, glancing at the headstone one last time when they turned to walk away. "It's just that this whole mess has gotten me thinking about Grandpa. And about people in general." He swallowed noiselessly, trekking behind Edward as they headed towards the parking lot. "I've been wondering… about how things turned out. If we'd have acted in another way, would things have turned out the same? How would we have acted, if things had been even slightly different? Why did we do what we did? Why do people do what they do? Why do people do things _at_ _all_? Why do they live? What's the point to all this? Is there a point? Was Grandpa only born so that he could go through a bunch of pain and then die? Where's the Equivalent Exchange in all of that? And—"

"Woah—!" Ed interjected with a wave of his hand, spinning around to face the brunette, lingering beneath a Cyprus tree. "You're out too deep, Alexander! Come back, come back…!" He snorted, pushing a lock of hair behind his baby brother's ear; taken aback by the flat glare he received as payment. "What, you really want an answer?" he blinked, sounding amused. "Oh, all right. Hmm, the meaning of life…" Scratching his head pensively, Edward mulled over the issue. Alex watched him do so with a hint of poorly-hidden curiosity. "Well," the blonde eventually declared, grinning broadly. "I guess I'd have to say that I really have no idea at all. But if I were to venture a guess, I'd probably fall back on the written words of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow."

"_A Psalm of Life_?" Alex guessed, unsurprised when Edward nodded.

"Sure. He seemed to know what he was talking about," Ed said with a wink, taking his little brother's hand once more as they returned to walking. "The point of life is to _live_. I can't think of any other 'meaning' that would apply to people as a whole. I mean, we all need to find for ourselves what we want to live _for._ As for dying… well, that's just nature's way, isn't it? You could even say that it's in exchange for the chance to live."

"But what about Grandpa?" Alexander pressed, slowing to a stop when they reached the parking lot and Todd's motorbike. The glossy black paint glimmered like onyx in the glow of the nearby streetlamps; Alex waited as his brother took out his keys and removed the kickstand. "What about everything he had to go through? That doesn't seem fair…"

Ed chuckled, handing his brother a helmet. "No one has ever called life fair. But you can't just remember all of the bad things or the sad times. He enjoyed a lot of happiness, too. And there is good in everything, if you know where to look for it."

The brunette's lips pursed doubtfully. "Even in someone dying…?"

"They're no longer in pain," the blonde shrugged. Alex frowned, disgruntled.

"But what about the pain they leave in the hearts of others?"

Edward smiled, seemingly impressed by the inquiry. "It makes them stronger. And don't forget, Al, that pain doesn't last forever. Gradually it hurts less and less—until there's only a scar and the memories. And the memories you have of a lost loved one are usually good ones. That's what Grandpa had of Alphonse, anyway. And so Alphonse ended up helping him through many, many years. After all, just because someone's dead doesn't mean they're gone… isn't that diary in your pocket proof of that?"

Alexander blushed, swiftly aware of the comfortable weight in his cargo pants. "I guess… that's true," he conceded, crawling onto the motorcycle behind his brother, grateful for an excuse to cling to him. "Even after all that happened to him, he was always moving forward, wasn't he?"

"That's one way to put it," his older brother snickered, revving up their ride. "Or as he always used to say: 'I had a pair of good, strong legs so I got up and used them.'" Unable to keep from grinning, Alex rolled his eyes at Ed's mocking tone; choking on a squeak as they shot off into the night, heading back home.

Benjamin would be mad if they were late for dinner.

**XXX**

_All right, I just wanted to talk about Ed's birthday for a minute. _

I honestly have no idea when it is. I mean, the first time we're "introduced" to Ed's birthday in the show, it's the beginning of winter and there's a freakin' blizzard. The second time, it seems to be late spring/early summer. In the kids OVA, it's clearly late summer/early autumn. So unless Ed has some magically-changing birthday… In any case, I guestimated; it can be really hot in September, but it can also snow later on in the month. So, you know… whatever you want to believe. XD

_Anyway, yea! I hope you enjoyed the last chapter… now what're you waiting for? Go read the epilogue! X3_


	11. PS

_Disclaimer: You know._

_Author's Note: ZOMG epilogue! X3 I've been looking forward to writing this… I hope you guys enjoy it! _

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Grandpa, as a self-proclaimed scientist, had always been incredibly cynical. I'm not sure if he believed in God or not, but I know he'd called 'Heaven' and 'Hell' a load of… well, I don't think I really want to repeat what he said.

Still… Grandpa was a good man. He'd try to deny it, he'd try to dismiss it— but he was. He was loyal, strong, and brave; so many people would have been lost without him. And though he'd committed many sins over the many years of his long life, he'd atoned for each countless times over.

Yes, Grandpa was a good man. He deserved—_deserves_—happiness.

And so, even if he never believed in Heaven… I hope he found it anyway.

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Skeletons

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Epilogue

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"There you are. I've been looking for you."

Taken aback by the unexpected appearance of another person, Edward Elric gave a stunned start, straightening. However, his shock was brief and fleeting; it quickly melted into a sunny smile— dazzling golden eyes sparkling with delight upon seeing the speaker. "Hey, Al," he greeted brightly, scooting a few inches to the left; making room for his little brother on the onyx step. "Sorry, was I gone long? I haven't been watching the time."

"I can see that," Al grinned, resting his chin in the palm of his hand as he lowered himself onto the offered seat. "What've you been watching instead?"

"The usual," Ed replied flippantly, leaning back on his miss-matched arms. "They grow up so fast, you know… it's like I blink and they're both adults."

Al laughed, mimicking his older brother's stance and gestures. The soft, draping fabric of his tattered scarlet coat bunched around his wrists as he did so, too large on his 13-year-old body. "They haven't aged _that_ much, Brother," he snorted, long auburn locks rustling in a non-existent breeze. "They're still just children in society's eyes."

"Fuck society," Edward sniffed haughtily, though on his face he wore a roguish grin. "When has society ever been right? I'm telling you, Alphonse… I've met 80-year-olds with less maturity than them."

"'Met them'?" Alphonse teased, tugging playfully on the ends of his brother's pale-blonde ponytail. "Brother, you _were_ one of them!"

He ducked with a laugh as Edward promptly retaliated: mercilessly tickling his baby brother until Al was squealing, begging for forgiveness. It was a wish that Ed, being the benevolent (and oh-so-very-humble) being that he was, granted with a smug smirk. Then he kissed the younger boy's cheek, wrapping his arms fondly around his shoulders.

Winded but content, Alphonse beamed, blushing an endearing shade of pink as he cuddled into much-loved arms. He'd never grow tired of being close to Edward… but all the same, it was time to go. Murmuring promises of adoration, Al hesitantly broke the embrace, standing and dusting off his pants. Ed watched him do so with a lethargic sort of interest, grinning when Al offered him a hand.

"Well?" Alphonse asked after a moment, flexing his fingers in his older sibling's direction. His lips turned upward, forming a warm, adoring smile. "Are you coming, silly?"

Edward chuckled, taking his little brother's hand and pulling himself to his feet. "Of course I am," he assured, voice silky-soft and sweet. Casting one last glance over his shoulder, he allowed his tender smile to widen. "…I think they're going to be okay."

Al beamed. "I know they are."

Together, they walked hand in hand through the open Gate doors.

**X**

"Hm—?"

Alexander sat up abruptly, snapping his head towards the window. '_That's weird_,' he mused, face darkened by uncertainty. '_But I thought I just heard…_'

"Al?"

Puzzled by his boyfriend's sudden, jerky movements, Edward leaned around his easel and canvas, lowering his paintbrush and mixing plate. Cocking his head, Ed scrutinized his brother, who had been reading on his "new" second-hand couch. "You okay?"

Lowering his magazine with a preoccupied frown, Alex considered—then graced his brother with a lighthearted smile.

"Never better."

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_Well guys, that's all she wrote! X3 At least, for this fanfic. As I've already said—many times—there's still a lot more to come in the world of Skeletons; but as far as this fic goes… that's the end! _

Thank you, again, for all of your support, sweet comments, and beautiful fanworks. I've saved them all, and I've never been more touched or honored. You guys pwn my soul, and I love y'all for it! XD

On that note, it's time to say goodbye—for now, anyway. Take care of yourselves! XD

Hugs, Kisses, and Moonlit Nights,  
Maiden of the Moon

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"Hey, Ed… I've been meaning to ask you something."

"'eah?" Edward mouthed around the spare paintbrush clamped between his teeth, concentrating on the image before him. His brush paused on the canvas; he pursed his lips thoughtfully, tilting his head. Then he continued with a delicate flick of his wrist.

Alex watched him for a moment, ruffling the pages of his magazine, before continuing. "Well, I was in the video store the other day, picking up some anime for Rosie, and you know what I saw there?"

"Mmm?"

"Old DVDs of that series Dad used to work on. You know the one—it was hugely popular. And we saw a big poster for it on Grandpa's 100th birthday?"

Ed pulled away from his picture, forehead crinkled with thought. After a moment, however, he nodded; spitting on his spare brush. "Oh yeah…" he then verbalized, wiping off his hands on a spare rag and smiling. "I'd forgotten about that. What was its name? Fullsteel something-or-other?"

"Something like that," Alexander agreed, dropping his magazine on the floor and pulling his knees to his chin. "Anyway, when I was looking at the cover, I noticed something kind of strange."

"Yeah?" Edward hummed conversationally, pulling out a cardboard box full of Tupperware. Inside each plastic container was a different hue of previously-mixed green. The blonde lifted two or three tubs, inspecting each, before eventually deciding on a shade of dark jade. "What's that?"

"Well…" Alexander hesitated, drumming his fingers contemplatively. "It's just… I mean, Mom's an artist, right?"

"Uh huh," the older boy nodded, turning to give his full attention to his little brother. "She wanted to stay at home to raise me after I was born, so she quit teaching history. After you came along, she started drawing. You know that."

"I know, but…" Alex curled his toes, resting his head against his kneecaps. "I was wondering— what's that name she always signs her stuff with?"

Understandably baffled by the abruptness of this question, Edward scrubbed at the back of his neck, uncertain. "Uh… geez, I dunno, Al," he shrugged, puzzled. "I think it was Hiromu Arakawa, or something like that."

Arching an inquisitive eyebrow, Ed couldn't help but smile; plainly amused by the adorable expression of shock that overcame his lover's face. "Oh? And what is that look for, Al?" Ed pried, eyes narrowing in a teasing sort of way. "I don't get the joke. Why do you want to know, anyway?"

But in response, Alexander simply smiled.

**XXX**


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